
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. vopjriglit i\o 

Shelf... -11 (o 
Z— IS'^S 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE ATHENy^UM PRESS SERIES 

G. L. KITTREDGE and C. T. WINCHESTER 

GENERAL EDITORS 



XTbe 

Htben^eum press Series* 



This series is intended to furnish a 



library of the best EngHsh literature 



from Chaucer to the present time in a 



form adapted to the needs of both the 



student and the general reader. The 



works selected are carefully edited, with 



biographical and critical introductions, 



full explanatory notes, and other neces- 



sary apparatus. 




ROBERT BURNS 

(After a painting by Nasmyth) 



Htben^eum press Series 



SELECTIONS 



FROM THE 



POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS 



Edited 
With Introduction, Notes, and Vocabulary 

BY 

JOHN G. DOW, M.A. 

LATE INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN 



BOSTON, U.S.A. 
GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 

1898 



':^^^ 



1G273 



Copyright, 1898 
By GINN & COMPANY 



ALL RIGHTS RESERV'ED 







Cijt; CC,-=V 



1893, 



PREFACE. 



The present volume was intended by the editor, the late 
Professor John G. Dow, to furnish such a selection from 
the poems of Burns as should, in moderate compass, fully 
illustrate the character and the range of his genius. In the 
Introduction it was Professor Dow's first purpose to consider 
Burns as a poet, and accordingly, after a brief biographical 
sketch, he passed over to a purely literary discussion. The 
reader will find a chapter on the obligations of Burns to his 
predecessors, another on his attitude toward nature, and so 
on. He will, however, discover no trace of that liking for 
moral dissection which has too often diverted critics from 
matters more immediately pertinent. The sections on lan- 
guage, the notes, and the glossary, will, it is hoped, afford 
the reader all the assistance needed to make the poems 
completely intelligible. 

Professor Dow died suddenly January 21, 1897. His 
manuscript was to all intents and purposes complete, but 
it had not received his final revision. The editors of the 
Athenaeum Press Series regard themselves as fortunate in 
securing, for the purpose of such a revision, the services of 
William Allan Neilson, Ph.D. (Harvard), a graduate of the 
University of Edinburgh and a close student of Burns. 

G. L. K. 
July i, 1898. C. T. W. 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction. 

I. Outline of the Life of Burns 
II. The Scottish Tongue . . . . 

III. Scotch Literature' before Burns . 

IV. Scottish Song and Music before Burns . 
V. Burns's Work in its Relation to the Past 

VI. Burns's Work in General 
Appendices. 

I. Pronunciation ..... 

II. Grammar ...... 

Bibliography 



PAGE 

xi 

XV 
XX 

xxix 

xxxviii 
li 

Ixxxiii 

Ixxxvi 

xciii 



Song : O Tibbie, I hae Seen the Day ...... i 

Song : Mary Morison ........ 2 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death ...... 3 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie .... 4 

Poor Mailie 's Elegy 6 

Song : My Xanie, O ........ . 8 

Song : Green Grow the Rashes ....... 9 

Epistle to Davie 10 

Song: Rantin Rovin Robin . . . . . . . -15 

Address to the Deil ......... 16 

Death and Doctor Hornbook 21 

To John Lapraik ......... 27 

To William Simson, Ochiltree ....... 32 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Holy Fair 35 

To the Rev. John M'Math 43 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle 46 

To a Mouse 47 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 49 

Halloween • • • 55 

Scotch Drink 63 

The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning Salutation to his Auld 

Mare, Maggie .......... 67 

The Twa Dogs 71 

Epistle to James Smith 79 

The Vision 85 

Address to the Unco Quid, or the Rigidly Righteous ... 92 

Song Composed in Spring 94 

To a Mountain Daisy . 96 

To Mary 98 

Epistle to a Young Friend 98 

A Dream . 10 1 

On a Scotch Bard, Gone to the West Indies .... 106 

A Bard's Epitaph 108 

The Brigs of Ayr .109 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . . . . 116 

A Winter Night 117 

Answer to Verses Addressed to the Poet by the Guidwife of 

Wauchope-House 122 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 125 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water 126 

The Banks of the Devon . . . . . . . .129 

Blythe, Blythe and Merry was she 129 

M'Pherson's Farewell 130 

My Hoggie 131 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 132 

Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw 133 



CONTENTS. ix 

PAGE 

Auld Lang Syne 134 

Go Fetch to me a Pint o' Wine . . . . . . . 135 

John Anderson my Jo 135 

Tarn Glen 1 36 

Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut 137 

To Mary in Heaven 138 

To Dr. Blacklock 139 

On Captain Matthew Henderson 141 

Tarn o' Shanter 145 

Bonie Doon 152 

O for Ane-and-Twenty, Tam . 1 53 

Flow Gently, Sweet Af ton 1 53 

Ae Fond Kiss 154 

The Deuk's Dang o'er my Daddie 155 

The Deil 's Awa wi' the Exciseman 1 56 

Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel 1 56 

Bonie Lesley 157 

My Ain Kind Dearie 1 58 

Highland Mary 159 

Duncan Gray 160 

Gala Water 162 

Wandering Willie 162 

Whistle, and I '11 Come to you, my Lad . . . . .163 

Scots wha hae 164 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness . . . . . . .164 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 165 

The Winter of Life ,. . .166 

Contented wi' Little 167 

My Nanie 's Awa . 1 67 

A Man 's a Man for a' That 168 

The Lass of Ecclefechan 169 

Last May a Braw Wooer 170 

Epistle to Colonel De Peyster 171 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

O, wert thou in the Cauid Blast 173 

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks . . o . . . .174 



Notes 175 

Glossary 251 

Index of First Lines 285 



INTRODUCTION 



I. OUTLINE OF THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

Robert Burns was born on the 25th of January, 1759; 
he was the eldest of a family of seven, and knew hardship 
and poverty from his earliest years. His father, William 
Burnes, a type of Scottish peasant not yet extinct, was in- 
dustrious, temperate, intelligent, strong-willed, and deeply 
religious. At the time of the poet's birth William Burnes 
was a crofter; he rented and farmed seven acres of land 
near the banks of the Doon, about two miles from the town of 
Ayr, and occupied a two-roomed house, built of stone and 
clay with his own hands, hard by the kirk of Alloway. 
This was Burns's home for the first seven years of his life. 
At the age of six he was sent to school under John Murdoch, 
an excellent young teacher, whom the villagers of Alloway 
clubbed together to employ for a small recompense. In 
1776, William Burnes, ambitious to do well by his children 
and to keep them under his own eye instead of sending them 
out into service/ rented the neighboring farm of Mount 
Oliphant with borrowed money. Robert and his brother 
Gilbert continued to go to school at Alloway, but on Mur- 
doch's retirement in 1768, when Robert was but nine years 
old, their regular schooling came to an end. The substance 
of Burns's education was derived from the careful instruc- 
tion of his father and from his own reading ; ^ this was 

^ Cotter'' s Sattu'day Night, 20, note. 
2 See Gen. Iritrod., p. xxxix. 



xii INTRODUCTION. 

supplemented by one quarter at Dalrymple parish school in 
1772, a few weeks at Ayr Academy in 1773, during which 
he revised his English and learned some French, and part 
of the summer of 1776 at Kirkoswald, where he began to 
study surveying, had his trigonometry overset by a girl, and 
became acquainted with the ways of smugglers. The con- 
stant companionship of his father was of the utmost impor- 
tance to his intellectual growth. Apart from regular 
instruction during the winter evenings, the mature experi- 
ence of William Burnes in matters both intellectual and 
practical, his clear and sure insight into men and things, his 
stubborn integrity, and his lifelong and heroic but hopeless 
struggle to beat poverty with independence, passed like rich 
seed into the mind of his son, and became at once the ethic 
and the material of poetry.^ In those early years, too, the 
boy's imagination was fed from the store of ballads, songs, 
and legends which his mother knew, and from the fairy tales 
of an old domestic, Betty Davidson.^ In other respects the 
home was governed by a profoundly religious sentiment, 
though not darkened by the Calvinistic bigotry then preva- 
lent in Scotland. But poverty gripped the family very hard. 
The farm was ^'a ruinous bargain," the good landlord died, 
the pinch of debt came, and they fell into the hands of a 
merciless factor.^ Then began for Burns the '^unceasing 
moil of a galley-slave."'* His father, who had married late, 
was beginning to age and to feel the effects of early hard- 
ship. At fifteen the son was doing a man's work, and at 
sixteen he was the chief laborer on the farm. The strain on 
his undeveloped system was so great and the living so poor 
that even his unusually powerful physique suffered, and he 

^ See esp. The Twa Bogs, C. S. N, and Man was Made to Mourn. 

2 See To the Deil, 63, note. 

^ See The Twa Dogs, 96, note. 

* Autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore. 



INTRODUCTION, Xlll 

became the subject of chronic fainting fits and melancholia. 
About this time he began to fall in love and make his first 
efforts in poesy. In 1776, too, '^ in absolute defiance of his 
father's commands/' he attended a dancing school, and, out 
of an ungainly, shy, and pious lad he rapidly developed into 
a social favorite and a gallant, who, besides his own amours, 
was ^'in the secret of half the loves of the parish."^ In 
1777 the family removed to Lochlea, another poor farm, 
about ten miles northeast of Mount Oliphant. Here they 
continued the same laborious struggle with poverty for seven 
years longer, until, under excessive toil and a burden of liti- 
gation, the father broke down, and in 1784 was " saved from 
the horrors of a jail " by the kindly intervention of death. 
During these years Burns dabbled in verse, but showed 
little productive power. From the bondage of the farm he 
variously sought relief in the social relaxation of a Bachelors' 
Club, which he founded, in the boon companionship of Free- 
masonry,^ and in a disastrous attempt to enter on the busi- 
ness of a flax-dresser. This last venture took him to Irvine, 
where he met the young sailor to whose influence he attributes 
the demoralization of his respect for the seventh command- 
ment. At the same time he proposed marriage to Ellison 
Begbie and was refused.^ In Irvine, too, he first became 
acquainted with the poems of Robert Fergusson, who made 
him "string his wildly sounding lyre with emulating vigor." 
Returning to Lochlea, he began to keep a Commonplace 
Book, copy out his compositions, and study the criticism of 
verse. He was coming to see that poetry was his proper 
vocation, and henceforth his history may be traced in his 
writings. On his father's death, he and Gilbert, by putting 
in a claim for arrears of wages, saved from the general ruin 

1 Autob. letter to Dr. Moore. 

2 See To the Deil, 73, note. 

3 See Mary Morison^ notes. 



i 



xlv INTRODUCTION. 

as much as enabled them to rent and stock the farm of 
Mossgiel. At Whitsunday, 1784, the family removed to 
their new scene of trial, and very soon thereafter the poet 
met his fate, Jean Armour.^ Towards the close of the 
same year he incurred kirk-censure, and began his series of 
satires on the Auld Licht clergy.^ These satires won for 
him a local renown, which encouraged him to great poetical 
activity during the next two years. But two successive crop 
failures and disgust with his miserable lot, aggravated by 
the result of his intimacy with Jean, their irregular marriage 
and her parents' attempt to annul the bond, made him re- 
solve to quit Scotland. The publication of his collected 
poems with a view to raising his passage money and the 
sudden fame which resulted ''overthrew all his schemes by 
opening new prospects to his poetic ambition." In Novem- 
ber, 1786, he went to Edinburgh, then a considerable literary 
centre, and carried all classes by storm with the brilliance 
and force of his personality. In 1787 he published a new 
and enlarged edition of his poems, from which he cleared 
as much money as enabled him to give his brother on Moss- 
giel ;^2 0o and stock a farm for himself in Dumfriesshire. 
This was EUisland, a wretched choice, to which, after a 
regular marriage, he brought his wife Jean in December, 
1788. To eke out a living, he secured a post on the excise,^ 
and in 1791, his farming being again a failure, he abandoned 
EUisland and removed with his family to the town of Dum- 
fries. Since 1788 he had been writing songs for Johnson's 
Scots Musical Miiseuvi^ and in 1792 he undertook work of 
the same kind for George Thomson's collection.^ He re- 
garded this as a patriotic work, for which he would accept 

1 See Ep. to Davie, 108, note. 

2 See Ep. W. S., H. F., and Ep. McM., notes, and Introd., pp. Ixx- 
Ixxv. 

^ See To Dr. Blacklock, notes. * See Bonie Lesley, note. 



INTRODUCTION. xv 

no payment, and this employment in the service of his 
country's muse kept his spirit bright to the last. But the 
hope had been stricken out of his life, his excise work was 
both odious and exacting, cronies gathered round him and 
toping worshippers who thirsted to be able to say they had 
drunk a glass with Burns, and henceforth his course was 
down. Under repeated assaults his health broke, he sank 
into a consumption, and on the 21st of July, 1796, in family 
circumstances of the acutest misery, the stormy soul passed 
into its rest.^ 

II. THE SCOTTISH TONGUE.2 

Lowland Scotch, the language used by Burns, and still 
living as 2^ patois throughout the south and east of Scotland, 
traces its descent from the Northumbrian dialect of Old Eng- 
lish. By the Danish settlement of Northumbria during the 
9th century, the Angles who inhabited Lothian and Tweed- 
dale were cut off from close connection with the southern 
kingdom, and, after much conflict during the loth century, 
their territory passed by regular cession under the sway 
of Kenneth, king of the Celtic Scots, who engaged that 
*^the people of those parts should retain their ancient cus- 
toms and their Anglian speech." Students of Shakspere's 
Macbeth are familiar with the revolution which transformed 
this Celtic kingdom of Scotland into one whose language, 
manners, and interests were Anglian. Malcolm Canmore, 
the successor of Macbeth, besides having spent his youth at 
the Anglo-Norman court of Edward the Confessor, brought 

1 The episodes of Mary Campbell and Mrs. Maclehose are related in 
the Notes. See To Mary, Highland Mary, To Mary in Heavett, Ae 
Fond Kiss. 

2 For further study of this subject, see The Dialect of the Southern 
Counties of Scotland, by Dr. J. A. H. Murray, pub. for the Philological 
Society, London, 1873. 



XVI INTRODUCTION, 

with him a powerful Saxon influence in his wife Margaret, 
sister of the ^theling. During his reign (1058-93) a strong 
Anglo-Saxon policy was maintained, refugees from the harry- 
ing of Northumbria were sheltered and encouraged, the 
nobility was reformed by the granting of estates to southern 
exiles who became personally bound to the throne, and the 
church was organized anew on a southern plan by Queen 
Margaret. Their sons and successors continued to identify 
themselves with the Anglian interest, and during the next 
two hundred years, under the combined influence of court, 
nobility, and church, the Anglian population and the Anglian 
tongue spread northwards round the eastern shore through 
Southeast Perthshire, Angus, the Mearns, Aberdeenshire, 
and Elgin, as far as the Moray Firth, and westwards till 
they covered all the country south of the Clyde except the 
wilds of Galloway. 

In the language of Burns we have Lowland Scotch, it is 
true, only after it has been subjected to a long process of 
accommodation to later English forms and usages ; but even 
in Burns it is easy to trace the dominant assertion of the 
Scandinavian family likeness which differentiates the Anglian 
dialects of the north from the Saxon dialects of the south, 
and especially the Norse characteristics which differentiate 
Scotch Anglian from the Anglian spoken south of the Scotch 
frontier.^ The Anglian tongue was not Scandinavian, but 
West-Germanic at base. From the first the Angles bore a 
strong kinship of both race and language with the Scandi- 
navians, and later their speech acquired an additional im- 
press of Scandinavian influence from the Danish and Norse 
settlement of Northumbria. The greater conspicuousness 
of the Scandinavian element in Lowland Scotch is due 
partly to the fact that the more northerly province, lying 
somewhat out of the way of influences that operated in Eng- 
^ But cf . Dr. Murray, Dialect of So. Cou7tties^ p. 24. 



INTRODUCTION. xvil 

land, was better adapted to preserve the original words and 
forms, and partly to distinct Scandinavian infusion operating 
freely on a language already closely akin. Both during and 
after the Danish invasions of England, great portions of 
Scotland were settled by immigrants direct from Norway. 
They poured round the north and down the west coast, 
settling the Orkney and Shetland Islands, Caithness and 
the Hebrides, established themselves on the fiords of 
Argyleshire, the coast of Ireland, and the Isle of Man, and 
crossed thence to the lands about the Clyde and the Solway 
Firth. The physical aspect of the people and certain 
peculiarities of their dialect would also indicate a distinct 
Norwegian impress on the mixed Anglo-Celtic population of 
Angus and the Mearns. The extent to which they mingled 
with the Angles of Lothian is less evident; there they met 
with a more numerous kindred from Jutland, Friesland, and 
the lower reaches of the Elbe, and were readily absorbed. 
These direct accessions of Scandinavian influence were 
further augmented by the severity of the Norman Conquest 
on the north of England, which drove many Norwegians and 
Danes, who had there become domesticated, to cross into a 
refuge open to them beyond the Cheviots. This graft of 
Danish stock may account for certain Danish words and 
forms in Lowland Scotch, but the Scandinavian influence on 
Scotland was mainly Norse. 

While the Anglian tongue was spreading in Scotland it 
suffered some modification from its contact with the retiring 
Celtic. This modifying influence mainly affected the pro- 
nunciation, but it also brought an appreciable influx of 
Celtic vocables ; it did not affect Anglian grammar. The 
spread of Anglian was in great measure due to the adoption 
of it by those whose mother tongue was Gaelic or Cymric, 
and whose organs of speech, being habituated to the Celtic 
sounds, preserved some peculiarities of utterance which 



xviil INTRODUCTION. 

influenced the forms of words/ just as French words became 
modified in form when they became current in the unaccus- 
tomed mouths of the English during the 13th and 14th 
centuries. This condition of things was also favorable to 
the importation of Celtic vocables into the Lowland speech, 
and, although the true power of the Celtic race lies in the 
spiritual and emotional elements it has contributed to the 
Teutonic genius through racial intermixture, this incidental 
component of Lowland Scotch is large enough to be 
worthy of a more detailed consideration than it has yet 
received.^ 

A slight infusion of Dutch which we find may have come 
with the Flemish settlers who were encouraged by the family 
of Malcolm Canmore.^ But the next considerable influence 
which affected the Lowland Scotch tongue was that of 
France. This French influence ran in two currents, one by 
way of England, the other direct from France. The former 
began with the introduction of Normal feudalism and culture 
north of the Tweed during the 12th and 13th centuries, and 
then the Scotch language took color from the Normanized 
civilization of which it was the medium. During the 14th 
and 15th centuries the same current passed northward, 
mainly by the channel of Chaucer's poetry, and the court 
language and literature of Scotland received, though in a 
more mechanical way, much of the enrichment that French 

1 See Dr. Murray's Dialect of So. Comities^ pp. 51-54. 

2 As it is, the number is considerable and includes words not merely 
" relating to Celtic institutions and customs." The following are taken 
entirely from the text: airt, bog, bogle(?), brat, brock, caird, cairn, 
clachan, claivers, coggie(?), craig (crag), cranreuch, creel, crummock, 
downans, duan, filabeg, glen, gowan, garten, ingle, kebbock, knaggie, 
laddie, lag, linn, lum, neuk, pownie, scroggie, skelp, sonsie, spleuchan, 
spunk, tocher, usquebeagh. There may be others. 

^ Examples which occur in the text are : heckle, mutchkin, 
naig. 



INTRODUCTION. XIX 

had given to English. To what extent this influence affected 
the language of the common people it is of course impossible 
to say. The second of the currents above mentioned began 
during the reign of William the Lion (i 165-12 15). The 
royal alliance which this king formed wdth France became 
an hereditary friendship. Alike during the long Scotch 
struggle for independence and during the Hundred Years' 
War waged by England for possession of the French crown, 
France and Scotland w^ere traditional friends and allies, and 
both saw in England their natural enemy. This alliance 
was superseded by the union of the Scotch and English 
crowns in 1603, but the friendly tradition still survived, 
and even as late as the i8th century the Stuarts looked 
to France for aid in their attempt to recover the English 
crown. 

During this long period Scottish civilization became satu- 
rated with influences from France. In the 13th and 14th cen- 
turies, Scotch students flocked to the University of Paris ; in 
the isth, Scotch universities were founded on the French 
model; in the i6th, Scotch law was reorganized according 
to French jurisprudence, and the Scotch kirk and Scotch 
theology were constituted according to the principles and 
creed of the French reformer. In these and other ways 
French influence dominated Scottish national life, and this 
dominant influence showed itself especially in a drenching 
of the Scotch language with words, forms, shades of mean- 
ing, accents, and even grammatical solecisms, drawn from 
and copied after the French. This French element in Low- 
land Scotch, however, was different from the French ele- 
ment in Middle English ; in the former case there was not 
the same chemical combination of the two tongues that there 
was in the latter, but only a mechanical intermixture, which, 
in course of time, permitted a great deal of this uncombined 
matter to be removed by the filtration which time effects. 



XX INTRODUCTION. 

Much, however, passed into the current stream of the lan- 
guage inherited by Burns/ 

III. SCOTCH LITERATURE BEEORE BURNS. 

After the Anglian district south of the Tweed was con- 
solidated with the English kingdom, the vernacular spoken 
there began to sink into the position of a vulgar dialect. 
Literature in England developed in another form of the lan- 
guage, the Midland, and the literature of the Anglian tongue 
was finally restricted to southern Scotland. There it found 
a national field, with a national audience and national inspira- 
tion, and flourished vigorously under the fostering care of 
court and clergy and learned laymen. But the Reformation 
and the Revival of Classical Scholarship gave this young 
literature its deathblow by, first of all, diverting the channels 
of literary expression, and, secondly, by exhausting the intel- 
lect and fretting the temper of the nation with theological 
and presbyterial polemics. When the New Learning spread 
northwards, the Scottish scholars were seized with the pas- 
sion for classical erudition, which made men all over Europe 
look with contempt on the still crude European tongues 

1 Dr. Murray {Dialect of So. Co2i7ities^ pp. 58, 59) gives a long list 
of words, many of them extremely barbaric, used by writers of the i6th 
century. The following is a partial list of words and forms from the 
present text : aiver, baillie, bawsent, bonie, breef, brisket, cartes, causey, 
certes, chimla, corbie, core, curchie, curple, daintie, dool, douce, fash, 
fause, faut, fawsont, feat, fen, fracas, gree, grushie, gizz, gusty, hurcheon, 
kimmer, leal, limmer, lyart, manteels, marled, mavis, mell, merle, 
mischanter, plack, pley, plenish, poortith, pouch, proves, ratton, saunt, 
scow'r, seizin, souple, sowther, spairge, spence, stank, sten, stoure, 
sucker, tassie, tester, virl, vauntie. Note also such accents as envy, 
deposite, complaisance, manteel ; the vocalizing of / in words like faut, 
fause, and the prevalence of the French u-sound, as in sure, dule, loot, 
and ou-sound, as in court, doubt, pow'r, which are pronounced coort, 
doot, poor. 



INTRODUCTION. XXI 

and court the majestic beauty of Latin. When we recollect 
that Scotland was but a small and not a populous kingdom, 
we may realize how severe was the blow to the vernacular 
Scotch when the greatest genius of the country of that age, 
George Buchanan, elected to write almost entirely in Latin. 
Side by side with Latin scholarship were the English pro- 
clivities of Knox and his followers. Knox still essayed to 
write Scotch, but he Anglicized his diction as much as he 
Anglicized his politics. He represents the beginning of 
that tendency which was by and by to make English the 
language of education and literature in Scotland, the lan- 
guage of polite society, and even the " dress " language of 
the farmer and the artisan. So much was Scotch neglected 
by the Reformers that no complete vernacular translation of 
the Bible was produced, and one of the last who wrote the old 
language in its purity was Ninian Winzet, Knox's Catholic 
antagonist. 

The union of the crowns in 1603 and the transference of 
the royal seat from Edinburgh to London reduced Scotland 
to an appendage of England, and removed one of the most 
powerful factors in the cultivation of a national literature, — 
the fostering tutelage of the court. But the union did more : 
coming as it did immediately after the Reformation, it left 
the country entirely in the hands of the exponents of Calvin- 
istic theology, who cared nothing for literature. The air 
was filled with strife of the petty schismatic kind, and the 
mind of the country was eaten into by the corrosive action 
of a fiercely argumentative creed. Altogether, it was a 
bitter and unlovely time, which was raised out of its little- 
ness, without losing any of its bitter and unlovely qualities, 
first by the roar of civil war and that stubborn Scotch devo- 
tion to the house of Stuart, and later by the terrors of 
religious persecution. The tendency to write for English 
audiences continued to grow in fashion, but the old vein of 



xxii INTRODUCTION, 

vernacular literature ceased to be worked, except in an inci- 
dental way by the writers of popular songs and ballads ; ^ 
this field offered the only relief which a highly musical and 
poetical people found from the chills of presbyterial rigor. 
With the Revolution of 1688 and the stable government of 
William III came a promise of better days ; but the current 
of tendency was now more than ever for a closer union with 
England. Political intrigue accomplished what the armies 
of the Plantagenet had failed to do, and in 1707 the inde- 
pendent Scottish Parliament sitting in Edinburgh was merged 
in that which met at Westminster. The last symbol of 
nationality was gone ; only the national sentiment remained ; 
and Scotland became a mere province of the southern king- 
dom. The decay of the language is sufficiently indicated by 
the total disappearance of Scotch prose and the complete 
ascendency of the King James version of the Bible. A 
national literature, in the strict sense, was forevermore an 
impossibility for Scotland. 

During the i8th century, however, under the privileges 
granted by the Revolution and the Act of Settlement, litera- 
ture had an opportunity of reviving. The Parliamentary 
Union destroyed all that was left of Scottish nationality 
except the spirit of patriotism that was later to give Burns 
a hot blast of inspiration, but the closer union with England 
made it easier for Scottish talent to rise on English lines, 
and lingering patriotic sentiment and that home love which 
grows warmer under real or fancied injury served to awake 
anew the vernacular strain in verse. Education prospered 
in the four universities and in the parochial schools. Lit- 
erary society was cultivated in Edinburgh in close imitation 
of the club life of London. English periodicals, like the 
Spectator^ found a ready audience in the northern capital. 
The correctness and intellectual quality of the school of 
1 These are mentioned later in the chapter on Scottish Song- 



INTRODUCTION. XXlll 

Pope were as diligently studied in the north as they were 
in the south, and the later English development into watery 
sentimentalism was faithfully reflected by northern imitators. 
The great body of literature produced in Scotland and by 
Scottish writers who went to London was in the English 
tongue, and, despite a few qualities that give it a northern 
individuality, was as thoroughly English of the i8th century 
as though there had been no division between the two 
countries.^ The qualities that distinguish this northern 
contribution to English literature and entitle it to special 
regard in respect of its Scottish origin are a closer touch 
with physical nature and a richer vein of romanticism, both 
of which qualities make Scotland appear as the pioneer of 
the twofold development that later produced Wordsworth 
and Coleridge. 

Alongside of this Scotch- English literature was the Scotch 
revival, which culminated in the work of Burns. This re- 
vival took a double growth, and shaped itself, on the one 
hand, into the literature of pure song, and on the other into 
a less special poetic literature, of which Ramsay and Fer- 
gusson are the chief representatives. These two lines lead us, 
the one to Burns's songs, the other to his poems. In both 
respects it is of importance, not merely in its connection with 
Burns, but in its general relation to the history of English 
poetry. For both in song and in poem it shows that the so- 
called " return to nature " was never necessary in Scotland, 
because Scotland had never departed from nature. When 
English poetry was presenting its most artificial appearance, 
this Scottish muse had all the buxomness of country life and 
the freshness of the early morn. There was neither stilted 

1 Prose writers like Hume and Robertson have nothing to distinguish 
them from their English brethren beyond an occasional Scotticism in 
diction. In poetry Thomson, Blair, Home, Falconer, Beattie, and Mac- 
pherson rank as English writers. 



XXIV INTRODUCTION, 

artificiality of conception nor cold artificiality of expression; 
both thought and language were simple, sensuous, and, if 
not always passionate, always rich in feeling. This was the 
true tradition inherited by Burns. It was this which fed his 
genius and gave him power as the first great *' natural '' poet 
of the new era. But the literature of this Scotch revival was 
a different product from the earlier literature of the 14th, 
iSth, and i6th centuries. It was different in national 
quality, because the Scotland which it represented was no 
longer a nation. It was different in its audience and appeal, 
because those to whom it addressed itself either were more 
and more becoming Anglicized in their education, speech, 
manners, and sentiment, or belonged to a class socially 
inferior, who had little education, few political rights, and 
small public interest. It was different also in its language. 
The vernacular as a literary vehicle had so long lain in des- 
uetude that the writers who now sought to revive its use for 
literary purposes applied themselves, not to the diction and 
vocabulary of the old masters, but to the living speech of 
the common people. There was still the older tradition, be 
it granted, but this fresh application to the vernacular in its 
living use among the lower and country classes introduced 
into literature, for the first time, a broader element, which 
we do not find in Barbour, but which had existed all along 
as part of the living vulgar tongue. 

Both phases of this revival are represented in a book 
which appeared at the beginning of the century, James 
Watson's Choice Collectioii of Comic and Serious Scots Poems 
(Edin., 1706-9-11). Omitting song literature for the pres- 
ent, we find the most considerable name in the collection to 
be William Hamilton, of Gilbertfield (died 1750), a writer 
associated as affectionately in his own life as he is in the 
verse of Burns with Allan Ramsay. In Watson's collection 
was that poem of his, The Death and Dying Words of Bonie 



INTRODUCTION'. XXV 

Heck, a Famous Greyhound, which furnished Burns a model 
for the Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, a Pet Yowe, 
In 1 7 19 he and Ramsay interchanged a poetical correspond- 
ence that again served as example and model for Burns's 
Epistles ; and in 1722 he produced that abridgment of 
Blind Harry's Wallace which passed into the common stall 
edition, and so fired Burns's youthful patriotism. But the 
two poets of this Scotch revival who are of greatest impor- 
tance, both as regards their own work and in their influence 
on Burns, are Ramsay and Fergusson. 

Allan Ramsay (1686-1758) was a poor Lanarkshire boy 
who received his entire education at the parish school of 
Crawfordmoor. At the age of fifteen he was apprenticed 
to a wigmaker in Edinburgh. By-and-by he acquired sub- 
stance, began business for himself, became a favorite mem- 
ber of the Easy Club, developed a literary vein, wrote and 
published verses, and presently passed from the industry 
of wigmaking to that of bookselling, — an admirable type 
of the long-headed, '* canny '' Scot, a man born to thrive, 
eminently mundane and full of glee, with an overmastering 
relish for humor of the broader kind, but temperate and 
shrewd, with a strict eye to business and with no disturbing 
passion or imagination. He picked up literature at the 
Easy as an incidental to his wigmaking craft, continued it as 
an incidental to the bookselling business, which was his 
mainstay, and, having earned both fame and a competency, 
dropped it altogether, with a quarter of a century of good life 
still before him. His first efforts were issued in the form of 
leaflets, which he sold for a few pence each. For some 
years he worked the neglected vein of the older Scotch 
literature, and in 1724 the fruit of his researches came out 
in the Evergreen, This was a " collection of Scots Poems 
wrote by the ingenious before 1600,'' taken chiefly from the 
Bannatyne MS.,^ and including many poems of a later date 

1 See p. xxxii, note. 



XXVI INTRO D UC TION. 

than 1600. In 1724-27 he brought out the first three parts 
of the Tea-table Miscellajiy^ a mixed collection of old and 
new songs, both English and Scotch, and by authors of 
both nations. In 1725 appeared the single work by which 
he is now universally remembered, the pastoral drama of The 
Gentle Shepherd} 

The scope of Ramsay's influence may be measured by 
the fact that the Tea-table Miscellany ran through twelve 
editions in a few years. The Evergreen^ The Ge?itle Shepherd^ 
and other works of his were only less popular. At home he 
was caressed by the nobility, and his shop in the Lucken- 
booths, with its conspicuous heads of Drummond and Jonson, 
was a favorite rendezvous for the wits of the capital. Among 
the people at large he was the acknowledged prince of living 
poets. His fame spread beyond Scotland, and editions of 
his works were printed in London and Dublin in 1731 and 
1733. He had an extensive correspondence with contem- 
porary men of letters, and critics praised his Gentle Shepherd 
as the best pastoral that had been written since Theocritus. 
His significance in relation to Burns is that he prepared the 
way for his greater successor, and by the impetus he gave 
to the cultivation of vernacular verse, by the success he 
achieved in reviving and popularizing the old native strains, 
by the education he gave the public in appreciating a literature 
strange to English and Anglicized taste, and by the frank 
and natural quality of his original compositions he practically 
made the swift and triumphant popularity of Burns possible.^ 

1 In 17 1 6 he edited the old poem, Christ'' s Kirk on the Green^ with 
an additional canto added; in 17 18 he republished it with another 
original canto. After The Gentle Shepherd he published another volume 
of poems in 1728, and in 1730 a book of Fables. Then, with remarkable 
wisdom for a popular poet, he ceased to write. Edition used : Works, 
3 vols., FuUerton & Co., Edin. and Lond., 1848. 

^ For his work in pure song, see pp. xxxvi-xxxvii. 



INTRO D UC TION. xxvil 

In language, too, he set Burns the example of employing 
both Scotch and English in his poems, using the former 
altogether in his most natural and spontaneous efforts, and 
reserving the latter for occasions of artificial dignity or 
serious elevation of thought. In only one poem of conse- 
quence ^ does he attempt a higher flight on the humble 
pinions of the vernacular. His English poems are not of 
high merit, and he wisely preferred the field where his talent 
lay. But in doing this he had to antagonize the literary 
fashion of the day and brave the public criticism of literary 
censors. But in Ramsay's case, as later in the case of 
Burns, there was an ulterior advantage accruing to his use 
of the homely dialect which he heard spoken about him : 
both in this way remained truer to nature, and they antici- 
pated the change in poetic diction commonly associated with 
the name of Wordsworth.^ 

1 The Visio7t, printed in the Evergreen, w^ith a misleading title, which 
deceived Scott, and a note that it was " compylit in Latin be a most 
lernit clerk in time of our hairship and oppression, anno 1300, and 
translatit in 1524." 

2 A humble pupil of Ramsay, whose work also touches that of Burns 
at a single point, is Alexander Ross (i 699-1 784), a poor schoolmaster 
of Forfarshire, who whiled away the enntii of country pedagogy by 
writing verses that brought him a parochial fame. At the age of sixty- 
seven he went to Aberdeen, taking with him the MS. of Helenore, or the 
Fortimate Shepherdess, and there met Beattie of Minstrel fame, who 
praised the poem and introduced it and its author to public notice. The 
poem opens with an address to his muse, whose name Scota furnished 
Burns with the idea of Coila: 

Come, Scota, thou that ance upon a day 

Garr'd Allan Ramsay's hungry heart-strings play 

The merriest sangs that ever yet were sung. 

Ross likewise composed some merry songs that help to carry on the 
lyric tradition to Burns : Woo'd an' Marritan' a\ The Rock afi' the Wee 
Pickle Tow, and others. 



xxviii INTRODUCTION. 

Robert Fergusson (1750-74), in a limited sense the heir 
of Ramsay, is of greater consequence as the immediate fore- 
runner and generously acknowledged master of Burns. Son 
of a poor Edinburgh clerk, born frail alike in body and in 
will, but with a quick, warm heart, a fine spirit of mirth and 
mockery, Fergusson's rare abilities soon revealed genius. 
He was fortunate in a university education, but by his 
father's death and his mother's poverty he was immediately 
forced to undertake the dismal drudgery of a lawyer's clerk. 
He was assailed by fate within him and fate without, 
and having no reserve of either moral or physical strength, 
lacking, too, a friend to stand by him in his hour of need, 
he sought to forget his poor home and his aching fingers in 
the glee of the clubhouse, dissipated somewhat, sank into 
broken health, then into remorse and religious melancholy, 
and finally passed to a swift and distressing end in a public 
insane asylum. In judging his work it is well to remember 
that he was barely twenty-four when he died, and that his 
three brief years of productive effort were much broken by the 
waste that comes of conviviality. From 1771 he contributed 
numerous poems to Ruddimaii' s Weekly Magazine or Edin- 
burgh Amusement ; in 1773 he collected and published these 
in a volume. The volume contained nine Scotch poems, 
including The Daft Days^ Braid Claith^ and Hallow Fair ; 
the rest were English. In his later compositions he culti- 
vated the Scotch vein by preference, and was only coming 
to a realization of his powers when the blight fell upon him. 

Inheriting the Scotch tradition which Ramsay had once 
more popularized, and the public which Ramsay had awak- 
ened, Fergusson likewise inherited the elder poet's ** spunk 
o' glee," the broad fun and sly satire which were so accept- 
able to his audience, and that love of nature which brings 
a waft of country air into his city poems. His genius, 
singularly void of passion, and immature in all except a 



INTRODUCTION. XXIX 

precocious tone of reflective wisdom, is that of the townsman 
born and bred who loves and misses the country. His sub- 
jects are drawn mainly from city and suburban life ; he 
paints the humors of Auld Reekie and hits off her characters 
with deft good nature, banters the lords and advocates of 
the Session, satirically moralizes on the respectability of the 
citizen's broadcloth, preaches to his fellow clubmen, with 
mock gravity, on the virtues of cold water, wakens the 
ghosts that haunt the Canongate, and collogues with plain- 
stanes and causey on the High Street. But he gladly listens 
to the song of the gowdspink, his eye catches the butterfly 
in the thoroughfare, and he passes in fancy to the rustic 
joys of the farmer's ingle. His style of treatment is humor- 
ous, pathetic, and moralistic. In these and other respects 
his relation to Burns is so close that it would almost seem 
as if his entire equipment, his humor, satire, and sagacity, 
his sympathy with nature and his warm humanity, his vivid 
sight of his object, even his diction and versification, had 
been transplanted into the richer soil of Burns's mind, and 
flourished there anew. 

IV. SCOTTISH SONG AND MUSIC BEFORE BURNS. 

Scottish Song was the direct outcome of Scottish Music, 
and, especially in the work of Burns, was directly inspired 
and regulated by its musical source. Mainly Celtic in its 
origin, but developed in the lowlands, this music has pe- 
culiarities that give it a distinct place in musical history. 
The old Celtic scale, in which the most ancient melodies 
were composed, had only five notes ; it was our modern 
diatonic scale minus the fourth and seventh. A familiar 
example of it is the melody of Auld Lang Syne, A slight 
examination will show how readily this scale lends itself to 
the production of minor strains and what may be called 



XXX INTR OB UC TION. 

minor effects in a major key ; and this is one reason why so 
many, even of humorous, Scotch songs have a touch of that 
pathos which is akin to melancholy. The strain is not one 
of grief or sadness ; it is simply the spirit of the hills, where 
the very cries of the birds are lonely, bringing down to the 
social fields of the " laigh country'' the solitariness of moun- 
tain life. Of a part with this general effect is the particular 
effect of the frequently incomplete melodic ending, which 
leaves the listener in suspense and gives a touch of exquisite 
idealism to the close. One of the best examples is The 
Briu7ie o' the Cowdenknowes} 

The influence of church music very early filled the gaps 
in this scale, and one of the early popular instruments was 
the pipe or recorder, which played the scale of C major with- 
out accidentals. Even this offered little scope for modula- 
tion, and the ingenuity and melodic skill of the early Scotch 
composers are well shown in their adaptation of the older 
kind of melodies to the new scale, and the production of 
expressive effects corresponding to changes of key. In this 
respect James I of Scotland, one of the most distinguished 
improvers of Scotch music, was renowned in the early Italian 
schools as the inventor of ^^ a new music, mournful and 
plaintive, different from all others." ^ With the improvement 
of the violin came another development of the popular 
music. The pipe was still a favorite instrument, and, as we 
see from Satan's performance in Tmn o' Shanter, was equally 
fitted for the rendering of the liveliest measures ; but the 
violin had more to do with the growth and spread of those 
folk melodies which finally gave birth to the songs of Burns. 

1 For further treatment of the subject, see Grove's Diet of Alusic, 
art. " Scotch Music." 

2 " Una nuova musica, lamentevole e mesta, differente da tutte le 
altre " : Tassoni, Pe7isie7'i Diversi, ed. by A. Barbarigo, Venice, 1665, 
bk. X, ch. xxiii, p. 406. For further references, see D. Irving, Hist, of 
Scottish Poetry^ p. 158, note. 



INTRODUCTION. xxxi 

The fiddle was/^r excellcjice the instrument that stirred the 
native blood ; it was also the instrument that for nearly two 
hundred years fought the kirk single handed and came out 
victorious, and it was the only instrument Burns used in 
tuning his genius to the melodies he enshrined in poetry. 

These melodies were transmitted from place to place and 
from generation to generation mainly by ear, and in this 
way they grew. The plowman in the field or the maid 
among the cows will whistle or sing a half-caught strain 
until the air completes itself. But the air will be apt to 
take some little turn from the singer^s mood or temper, and 
then it is no longer the same ; it has assumed a different 
color, sentiment, and individuality ; it has become a differ-, 
ent song, demanding different words. Melodies, too, among 
a musical people, are readily caught when words are lost, 
and the song, carried away into another glen or haugh, hums 
itself in the popular mind, until by-and-by it shapes itself 
into words that embody its changed sentiment. It is easy, 
for instance, to detect modifications of the same strain in the 
opening measures of Och Hey Johimie Lad^ Corn Rigs^ and 
Aiild Lang Syne, whose finished melodies have grown widely 
apart. A better illustration is Lady Cassilis' Lilt. In this 
old melody we can see the source of the plaintive strains of 
The Bonie Llouse o^ Airlie and A Wee Bird Cam to Our LLa' 
Door ; a different modulation of the same air gives us Hey 
lutti Taitie, whose tenderness appears in 77ie Lajid o' the 
Leal ; and with only a slight change of accent this pathos 
is transformed into the martial bravery of Scots Wha Hae, 
But, though the ancient melodies were thus changed at the 
hands of an unskilled people, their original construction 
indicates that they were the work of artists in melodic com- 
position. And no doubt the fact that they suffered modifi- 
cation from the country people who sang them is partly the 
reason why they are so rich in feeling. They have gathered 



xxxii INTRODUCTION. 

to themselves the unspoken humor and pathos of we know 
not how many lives, and as we listen to them we seem to 
hear the voices of generations of dead singers come trem- 
bling to us across the centuries with a laugh or a sob. 

From very early times there was a national heritage of 
words to these national melodies. We have little evidence 
of their character beyond what is furnished in a few titles 
mentioned in stray places, like The Tale of Cockelbie's Sow} 
But the number referred to even as early as the 15th 
century indicates a considerable body of floating folk songs 
that grew up and scattered themselves as the ballads did 
without any recognized authorship.^ The i6th century 
produced a curious book, A?ie Compendious Bulk of Godlie 
Psabiis and Spiritual Sangs (1570), in which the Reformers, 
feeling themselves powerless against the art of folk-music, 
sought to catch the populace by singing '' psalms to horn- 
pipes." Like the Salvation Army of the present day, they 
took over the popular songs, titles and all, and only altered 
the words so far as to make them suit the religious purpose 
for which they w^ere designed. These religious travesties 
serve the double purpose of preserving the titles and first 
lines of many of the most popular ditties of the day, and of 
indicating the desperate shifts to which the kirk was driven 
to circumvent the devil and counteract the Satanic influence 
of popular song. But anything like mirth, even under a 
religious guise, was alien to the spirit of the old Scotch 
Presbyterians; and especially during the 17th century, in 
addition to the long and bloody struggle with Episcopacy, the 
gloom of the Covenant hung heavy over bonnie Scotland.^ 

Yet even during that austere and bitter time, when men 

1 Printed in Laing's Select Remains of the Aticient Popular Poetry of 
Scotland. 4°. Edin., 1822. 

2 See Introd. to Songs of Scotland. Lond., 1871. 

^ The Coi7iplay7ite of Scotlajtd (1549) gives the names of thirty-seven 
songs which the shepherds sing to the author in his dream. About 1555 



INTRODUCTION. xxxili 

were shedding their blood for a creed that choked all 
earthly inspiration and a church that stifled the mirth of 
children, the natural genius of the people found relief in 
country songs that form a respectable prelude to the " melo- 
dious bursts " that fill the i8th century. The first work of 
the century, indeed, was the collection and publication of 
these, ^ many of which formed the crude material of the later 
efforts of Ramsay and Burns. As nearly all of them were, 
owing to kirk influence over the press, transmitted by oral 
tradition or in unaccredited broadsheets, very few names of 
authors have been preserved. We have, among others, Sir 
Robert Aytoun, who may have written one version of Auld 
Lang Syne ; Lady Grizel Baillie^ whose ballad Were na my 
Heart Licht I Wad Die so pathetically appealed to Burns in 
his dark days at Dumfries ; and the Semples of Beltrees, of 
whom Francis is credited with the authorship of Maggie 
Lauder^ Fy Let us a' to the Bridal^ and others. These are 
names socially and politically conspicuous, but the major 
part of the 17th century songs are anonymous, — a fact 
which Burns lamented when he came to vrork this field. A 
few^ songs like Muirland Willie, Tak your Auld Cloak about 
ye'^ Waly, Waly up the Bank, and the Scotch Barba?'a Allaii 

Sir Richard Maitland compiled a collection of Scotch poetry, from which 
Pinkerton, the antiquary, in 1786 published an excerpt. In 156S George 
Bannatyne, fleeing from the plague, retired to a country house and 
wrote out in MS. the most valuable collection of old Scottish poetry 
which we possess ; this was the collection from which Ramsay drew 
material for the Evergreen. In 1579, by order of the Legislature, min- 
strels were classed as vagabonds. 

1 The chief MS. collections of the 17th century are the Skene collec- 
tion, airs with titles of words sung (1630-40), and the Straloch MS. 
(1627-29). The Aberdeen Caiittis, a collection of about fifty songs with 
music, of which, however, only half a dozen were Scotch, was published 
at Aberdeen in 1666. 

2 Shakspere's Othello, Act ii, sc. 3, shows that a version of this 
song was known in England as early as 161 1. 



xxxiv INTRODUCTION. 

carried on the ballad type imitated by Burns in Tani Glen 
and Last May a Br aw Wooer. Many furnished Burns both 
a subject and a model; e.g., Gala Water, Wa?ideri?i Willie, 
An Id Rob Morris, My Jo, Janet, O Gin 7ny Love Were Yo7i 
Red Rose. Others, like Katherine Ogie, Saw ye Jo/mie Co77iin, 
Will ye Go to the Yowe Buchts Afario?i, merely handed down 
old melodies which Burns worked to better effect. A few, 
like Annie Laurie and Leader LLaughs an' Ya^yow, passed 
into other hands, and a large number were left untouched, 
or served only as fertilizers of the lyric soil, and gradually 
disappeared. The song writers of the 17th century seem to 
have been loath to acknowledge and care for their literary 
offspring, perhaps from the stigma of vagabondage that was 
laid upon the minstrels, perhaps for the reason that may be 
guessed from the opening lines of the Silly Aiild Man, a 
song of the reign of Charles II : 

I am a puir silly auld man 

An' hirplin ower a tree, 
Yet fain fain kiss wad I 

Gin the kirk wad let me be. 

The kirk had good excuse for seeking to regulate the popu- 
lar Scottish muse of this time. Whether from innate wick- 
edness or from a natural defiance of presbyterial severity, 
the muse w^alked abroad in a shockingly high-kilted fashion, 
and kicked up her heels in a w^ay that seems deliberately 
intended to flout the " unco guid." Many songs were 
written which appear to have had nothing but licentiousness 
for their motive, while others had nothing to recommend 
them but low buffoonery. This prevalent coarseness and 
vulgarity of the earlier song literature, modified though it 
was by the inexpert hand of Ramsay, should be remembered 
when we come to think of Burns's w^ork, not merely in its 
conversion of brick into marble, but in the strictly ethical 
respect of purification. Burns knev/ this song literature 



INTR OD UC TIOX. XXXV 

thoroughly, and it is a marvel that his hand, steeped as it 
was in this compound, should have been so little, like the 
dyer's, subdued to what it worked in. 

During the i8th century fresh impulse was given to the 
cultivation of Scottish song by the Jacobite enthusiasm, by 
the work of Allan Ramsay, and by the fashionable taste for 
Scotch music. 

The Jacobite minstrelsy continued the tradition of the 
English cavaliers. The Whig Revolution and the final 
exclusion of the Stuarts from the throne provoked in Scot- 
land the liveliest indignation and derision, and flooded the 
country with a tide of popular song in which the sense of 
injury blends bitterly with devotion to the "richtfu' king." 
The songs are for the most part anonymous, orphaned waifs 
of the passionate semi-Celtic Scottish heart, and, though not 
as a rule marked by fine poetic genius, are brimful of life. 
They sound every note of tenderness, fidelity, hope, courage, 
pride, defiance, and scorn, and their high-hearted victorious 
loyalty, which not even Culloden could subdue, is poignant 
with satirical humor. They group themselves into three 
classes round the three struggles of 1689, 1715, and 1745. 
The second group contains two notable songs, the fine burst 
of indignant loyalty known as Lady Keith's Lament, and that 
masterpiece of patriotic rough-handling, A Wee Wee Genna?i 
Lairdie, of which the very title is a vesicating blister. The 
country was far more deeply stirred by the rising of the '45 
and the romance of '' bonnie Prince Charlie." Though it 
was chiefly the clans who acted in the fray, the cannie low- 
landers joined in the triumph while it lasted and made the 
land ring with songs in honor of the *' young Chevalier."^ 
They greeted him with O but Ye 're Been Lang 0' Co77iin, and 
Welcome Royal Charlie; mocked the Englishmen in Hey 
Johnie Cope and Up an' Rin Awa Hawley ; donned the white 
1 See Hogg' ^ Jacobite Miiistrelsy. 



XXX VI * INTRODUCTION. 

cockade and sang Charlie He 's my Darlhig and a hundred 
more ; and, when all was lost, they comforted their " bonie 
hielant laddie" by sending the butcher Cumberland to hell and 
describing Satan "in a neuk rivin sticks to roast the duke." 
Ramsay's song work is of two kinds, original and editorial, 
and most of it appeared in the Tea-table Miscellany (see p. 
xxvi). His original songs, including those in The Gentle 
Shepherd^ are never striking for their intrinsic merit ; the 
only ones that have held their place are Lochaber no More^ 
The Lass d Fatie's Mill, and 77ie Yellow-haired Laddie, and 
these chiefly on account of the fine melodies to which they 
are set. Ramsay is kindly and droll, but neither his joy nor 
his sorrow is rapturous or deep ; he has none of the passion 
requisite in a lyrist. Even love with him has a good deal of 
the proverbial Scot's " canny lang-headedness." It has none 
of the fine idealism and passionate abandon of that portrayed 
by Burns. ^ Yet Ramsay was greatly inspired by Scottish 
music. He wrote many of his songs to the traditional mel- 
odies, and gave the names of the old airs to which his new 
words were to be sung.^ His less original, but more fruitful 
work consisted in collecting old songs and presenting these 
in a dress suited to his time. While, however, he preserved 
many of the songs and airs that afterwards inspired Burns, 
he took great liberty with his material. We cannot know 
the extent to which he carried his retouchings and rehabili- 
tations. He gives about twenty songs that are presumably 
old, and of the hundred or so that claim to be original many 

^ A typical example is his treatment of the pathetic story of Bessie 
Bell and Mary Gray, two maidens of Perth, who withdrew from the 
plague and " biggit a bower an' theikit it ower wi' rashes," and died and 
were buried there. Ramsay gave the legend a comic turn by making 
both the sweethearts of one man who could not make up his mind 
which to choose. Compare also his Aicld lang Syne and Corn Rigs 
with those of Burns. 

2 In 1726 he published a volume of these airs. 



INTRO D UCTION. XXX Vll 

are based on songs of which he preserved at least the 
motive. A good example of the latter class is The Last Tirne 
I Cam oiuer the Muir^ in which he preserves only the first line 
of an old song and composes the rest to suit that line, — a 
plan both commended and followed by Burns. When we 
consider the license assumed by the old Scottish muse, we 
need not violently regret the curb Ramsay put upon her 
tongue. It is improbable that he suppressed anything of 
real value, and as it was he left scope enough. What he 
certainly accomplished in the four volumes of his Miscellany 
was to preserve even in lines and titles much that would 
otherwise have been lost, to foster the love of song through- 
out the country, and not only to prepare the way, but to 
leave a rich body of inspiration for his greater successor.^ 
From the time of Ramsay to Burns the vernacular continued 
to be cultivated by a multitude of writers, the extent of 
whose work can be estimated only by referring to the liter- 
ature of the subject. The song writers^ came from all classes, 
— every grade of the nobility and gentry, the learned pro- 
fessions (including even stray clergymen), the crafts and 
industries, and even the vagabond classes. Likewise, a great 
body of anonymous song literature was spread abroad, some 
idea of which may be gathered from Herd's collections of 
1770 and 1776. 

1 Ramsay tells us that about thirty songs of the Miscellany were by 
friends of his, — Robert Crawford, Hamilton of Bangour, Hamilton of 
Gilbertfield (see p. xxiv), and others. Most of these wrote in English or 
Anglicized Scotch. Crawford's Scotch is thin, but his Bush Aboon 
Traqiihair became a popular favorite, and his Doiiii the Burn Davie was 
reworked by Burns. 

2 Conspicuous among them are the Duke of Argyle, Sir Henry 
Erskine, Lady Ann Barnard, Mrs. Cockburn, Miss Jane Elliott, Rev. 
John Skinner, Dr. Blacklock, Pinkerton the antiquary, the poets Mallet, 
Ross, Home, and others, Dugald Graham the town crier of Glasgow, 
Tibbie Pagan the shebeener, and Jean Glover the vagabond. 



xxxviu INTRO D UCTION. 

Finally, song production was immensely stimulated by the 
passion for the Scottish folk melodies that swept over both 
Scotland and England in the i8th century. Since the mid- 
dle of the lyth century Scottish airs had become so popular 
in England that London literary hacks made it a business 
to manufacture imitations, spurious in both words and music. 
One of the leading spirits in this enterprise was D'Urfey, the 
playwright (a favorite of the merry monarch), who in his later 
life published a collection in six volumes.^ In Scotland the 
national melodies began to be published, both with and 
without words, from the beginning of the century. The 
earliest collection which contained words was Wm. Thom- 
son's Orpheus Caledonius (1725-33). Then followed a steady 
run of similar works ^ down to the publication of Johnson's 
Musical Museum^ the first volume of which appeared in 
1787, and Thomson's more aristocratic collection, to both 
of which Burns contributed his best work in Scottish song. 

V. BURNS'S WORK IN ITS RELATION TO THE PAST. 

(a) His Poeifis, 

The sources and models that most influenced Burns were 
those of his own country and his own century. The earlier 

1 Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy (London, 1719-20: 
reprinted in facsimile 1872), In 1651 there had also appeared in Lon- 
don John Playford's Dancing Master, which, along with a few genuine 
Scottish airs, contained some very clever imitations that were adopted 
north of the Tweed, and had good sets of words written to them; e.g., 
The Deil Cam Fiddliti thro^ the Toun and The Deick V Dang d^er My 
Daddie (both by Burns). In 1700 Henry Playford published A Collec- 
tion of Original Scottish Tujies (Full of the Highland Humors) for the 

Violin: being the first of this kind yet printed. The first edition of Pills 
to Purge Melancholy, edited by H. Playford, had been published in 1699. 

2 Note especially James Oswald's collections (1740-42), which were 
used by Burns. 



INTRODUCTION, XXXIX 

Scottish literature affected him scarcely at all, except as it 
embodied and transmitted the national sentiment, language, 
and tradition. His patriotic enthusiasm took him back to 
the times of Wallace and Bruce ; but he had not read 
Barbour's Bruce, though the spirit that produced it he dis- 
tilled into Scots Wha Hae, and his acquaintance with Henry 
the Minstrel's Wallace ^diS made through the modernized and 
weakened version of Hamilton of Gilbertfield. Of the poets 
and prose writers of the 15th and i6th centuries he knew 
nothing, though here again he presents strong affinities with 
Dunbar ; nor did the extensive ballad literature have any 
appreciable influence on the development of his genius. 
This limitation applies equally to English literature. Beyond 
a fair knowledge of Shakspere and Milton he drew all that 
influenced his work from the century in which he lived. 

In English literature of the i8th century, however, he was 
well read, and it affected him in a far deeper degree than is 
generally allowed. The books he read may have been few, 
but they were select, and his assimilative power multiplied 
tenfold the significance of those he did read. Even from 
his schoolbook he imbibed a literary love for Addison, and 
before he appeared as an author his reading embraced 
(besides Scotch literature) a set of Queen Anne letters, on 
which he painfully modeled his epistolary style ; the poetry 
of Pope, Thomson, Shenstone, Beattie, Collins, Gray, Gold- 
smith, Macpherson, and Churchill ; the prose of Addison, 
Steele, and Johnson ; some of the novels of Richardson, 
Sterne, Smollett, and Mackenzie ; the Mirror and Lounger 
of his own day ; and some technical works on Agriculture, 
Mental Philosophy, Scripture History, and Original Sin. 
To these add the thorough acquaintance with the Bible that 
used to be required of every respectable Scottish youth and 
an enthusiastic study of a collection of songs on which he 
carefully whetted his critical perceptions as well as tuned 



xl INTR on UC TION. 

his imagination. The sum total, when we consider the fact 
that he '' drew blood from everything he read," gives a lit- 
erary education which renders it a mere affectation to speak 
of his " untutored muse." 

In estimating its influence on his mind and work we must 
keep before us the character of i8th century literature, — its 
classicism and its sentimentality. In its earlier age it was 
a dry and intellectual literature, given to the study of cor- 
rectness and permitting no exuberance of either thought or 
diction, affecting '' wit," or intellectual sparkle, but possess- 
ing little sense of the humor that is kin to pathos ; having a 
lively fancy, as illustrated in The Rape of the Lock^ but little 
of that penetrative power which unites fancy to the pro- 
foundest emotions of the heart ; an aristocratic product, a 
literature of fashionable city life and the life of the provin- 
cial gentry, in which the poor had no figure, and mere rustic 
simplicity was held to be *'low." Supervening on this in 
the second age of the century was a veneer of sentiment, 
which was its nearest approach to genuine feeling ; it was 
as if the appeal to reason and intellect had been overdone, 
and emotion, so long held in check, sought relief in "tears 
of sensibility." This affected and sometimes whimpering 
sentimentality explains Wi^ furore created by Sterne and the 
extravagant reputation of Mackenzie. 

Apart from the special mention Burns gives to many of 
the i8th century writers,^ stray echoes of these maybe heard 
from time to time in his verse, as when he adapts a stanza 
of Gray's," a line of Pope's,^ a couplet of Goldsmith's,* or a 
thought of Young's^; and in a general way the artificial char- 

1 E.g.^ in the Ep. to Lapraik, to AIcMatk, The Vision^ etc. 

2 C. S. A\ 14-17. 

3 C.S.jV., 129, 157. 

4 c. s. a:, 1 56. 

5 To a M.D., 51. 



INTR OD UC TION. xli 

acter of the century may be traced in an occasional note of 
mere rhetoric,^ or again in the stilted gait of his English 
heroics. The artificiality and classicism of the school of 
Pope do not, however, affect him so much as the sentimen- 
tality of the succeeding age, which appealed strongly to his 
sensitive and undisciplined nature. He was especially fond 
of Sterne's Sentimental Journey^ and he absurdly overrated 
Mackenzie's Man of Feeling, 4n The Vision he regrets that 
he is not master of the '^ bosom-melting throe of Shen- 
stone's art " and cannot ''pour the moving flow " of Gray, 
whereas, in fact, the emotions excited by these masters were 
only titillations, compared with which his own were earth- 
quakes. He brought into this fashionable age the stormy 
sincerity and passions of a new era, and he never approached 
nearer to insincerity than when he adopted the affectations 
of the literary beau monde he had come to supersede. 

Of a part with this i8th century influence are his frequent 
excursions into the English tongue. Both Ramsay and Fer- 
gusson served as examples for an intermixture of English 
with Scotch. But the wide range of his own culture and 
preparation also inclined him towards the use of English ; the 
undivided authority of literary criticism pointed in the same 
direction ; and he himself seemed to feel that the fashion- 
able English writers were somehow a degree above him and 
his homely dialect. English had for him something of 
decorum and dignity that did not sit easily on the rustic 
Scotch. Hence, when he wrote English, it was with a view 
to assuming a certain elevation of tone and dignity of man- 
ner. In The Cotter's Saturday Night he is both serious and 
dignified, but it is still a familiar dignity, and the Scotch ele- 

1 E.g., " doitit Lear," " Labour sair," " droopin Care," and " dark 
Despair," all in a single stanza of Scotch Driftk. Cf. the introduction 
of abstractions like Hospitality, Benevolence, Learning, and Worth at 
the close of The Brigs of Ayr. 



xlii INTRODUCTION. 

ment is not on the whole prominent. In The Vision he 
naturally assumes the English tone when the sentiment be- 
comes elevated. In such lyrics as Afto?i Water and To Mary 
in Heaven he shows mastery even of pure English ; but on 
the whole English was to him a book language, and his 
English work is of comparatively little account beside his 
Scotch. Whenever he writes completely at his ease, he 
uses the language that comes nearest his heart ; and when 
he draws very close to his subject with familiar affection,^ or 
when he introduces humor or mockery,^ the Scotch is richest 
and strongest. 

As a counteractive to this artificial and cramping influence 
may be set the partial acquaintance he had with Shakspere 
and Milton and his reading of Macpherson's Ossian ; but 
his chief source of '^natural" inspiration was the Scottish 
literature of his own century. Previous sections have shown 
how the ground was prepared for him in this respect, and he 
repeatedly mentions, with the most generous regard, his 
accepted Scottish masters.^ But his relation to them is not 
merely that of a later poet's regard for more or less eminent 
forerunners in the same line. He takes their poems when- 
ever it suits his purpose, appropriates their subjects, their 
motive ideas, their forms of verse, their inventive detail, and 
even their diction. In actual borrowing and imitation his 
derived work exceeds that of any other great English author 
except Shakspere. Of his poems hardly any except his 
two masterpieces. The Jolly Beggars and Ta77i o^ Sha?tter, is 
original in the sense that the first idea and form of it sprung 
from his own brain ; and even the latter of these is not 
strictly entitled to claim this originality. His Epistles are 

1 Cf. On Scaring Water-fowl with the openings of A Wiiiter Night 
and The Brigs of Ayr. 

2 Cf. My Na7tie, O with O Tibbie, I Hae Seen the Day. 

3 See Ep. W. S., ii, and Ep. I. (I). 



INTRODUCTION. xliii 

nearly all modeled on the rhyming correspondence of Ram- 
say and Hamilton of Gilbertfield. Picir Mailie borrows 
from the same Hamilton's Bonie Heck, and Mailie' s Elegy 
from Skinner's Ewie wi^ the Crookit Horn. Halloween is 
based on a poem of the same name by John Mayne ; Man 
was Made to Mourn on an old Scottish elegy, The Life and 
Age of Man; Tarn Samso?t's Elegy on Robert Sempill's Death 
of Habbie Sims on. From Fergusson, whom he most auda- 
ciously utilizes, he draws both the idea and the form of The 
Cotter's Saturday Night, The Holy Eair, Scotch Drink, The 
Brigs of Ayr, A Winter Night, and indirectly much more than 
these (see Notes). He did not, indeed, require to learn of 
Fergusson his *' boast of independence," nor his ''livid 
hatred of hypocrisy"; but his study of Fergusson fed his 
temper in both of these directions, and showed him how 
they could be turned to poetic account. From him, too, he 
may be said to have first learned to apply his splendid com- 
mon sense, and to blend with it his inevitable humor ; from 
him, perhaps, his first lessons in seeing the human aspects 
of inanimate nature and the brute creation ; and from him 
certainly the deft art with which he makes his favorite stanza 
ring like the crack of a whip. When, at twenty-three, he 
gave up poetry altogether for a time, it was " meeting with 
Fergusson's poems " that made him " string anew his wildly 
sounding lyre with emulating vigor." Apart from individual 
cases of imitation and borrowing, a general comparison will 
show how thoroughly he saturated his mind with the work 
of his more precocious master, and it will show further how 
little his originality suffers from a frank acknowledgment of 
his debt. These points, however, affect only the poems of 
Burns ; in his songs he has a hemisphere of poetic dominion 
never visited by Fergusson at all.^ 

His debt to Ramsay is only less great, though far less 
1 See notes on C. S. N, H. F., B. A., Sc. Dr., W. N 



xliv INTRODUCTION. 

conspicuous. Ramsay was first in the field, and much of 
what Ramsay transmitted to Burns he transmitted by way 
of Fergusson. But Burns studied Ramsay long before he 
received from Fergusson his second quickening, and he 
continued to be a student of Ramsay long after he had laid 
Fergusson aside ; Ramsay's indirect influence is visible as 
early as Poor Mailie's EIeg}\ and it is well marked as late 
as Tarn o' S/ianter. This influence frequently shows itself 
in isolated lines that are borrowed entire or adapted ; else- 
where in verse forms, especially in the difiicult measures of 
the Epistle to Davie and A Dream; or again in bits of 
invention that are adopted and reworked, as in the use he 
makes of Ramsay's specter and attendant sprites in The 
Vision. Less specially it shows itself in the tone and gen- 
eral character of his familiar epistles, many of which are as 
carefully modeled on those of Ramsay as his descriptive 
sketches are on Fergusson. It appears most of all in a 
licentiousness that makes a deal of his powerful work unfit 
to be quoted. Allan Ramsay showed an astute insight into 
human nature, as well as a keen eye for the sale of his 
books, when under their innocent titles he smuggled the 
spirit of the English Restoration into a country that had 
long been surfeited with formal sanctity. In this respect he 
found in Burns a pupil only too apt, and Ramsay's influence 
more than any other single cause accounts for certain 
features of The Jolly Beggars., Holy Willie'' s Prayer., The 
Ordination^ and many of Burns's minor pieces. 



(b) His Songs. 

In his songs the roots of his genius are even more deeply 
imbedded in the past. Jacobitism (see p. xxxv), which 
survived as a romantic inspiration far into the present cen- 
tury, was in the time of Burns still bound up with living 



INTR on UC TION. xlv 

recollections. In his case it not merely furnished material 
for poetic practice, but was part and parcel of his real sen- 
timent. In an age and country that had not yet become 
democratic enough to look elsewhere than to a royal family 
for its fountain head of patriotism, the poet turned with 
contempt from the unpoetical house of Hanover to the royal 
Stuarts, all of whom had befriended poetry, many of whom 
had themselves been poets, and whose lives had from the 
first been marked with tragic and romantic destiny. ^' Ex- 
cept when my passions are heated," he says, " my Jacobitism 
is merely by way of vive la bagatelle " ; but in both prose 
and verse he has left ample record of this sentiment. His 
tour in the highlands warmed this sentiment to a keener 
glow, which found expression in numerous songs. His visit 
to Culloden produced 21ie Lovely Lass of Liiv ernes s ; strains of 
Jacobite music shaped themselves in his mind to The Battle 
of Shef'iffmuir^ Whare LLae ye Bee?t Sae Braiv Lad, and 
There Ul A^ever be Peace till famie Comes LLa7?ie; and the same 
inspiration gave us Macpherson^ s Farewell, The Llighlaiid 
Widow's Lame7it, Fareweel to a^ our Scottish Fame, and (if it 
is his) Scott's favorite, // Was a^ for our Richtfu' Ki?ig, 

His chief stimulus in song production, however, was 
Scottish folk-music. With this inspiration he diverted 
Johnson's Musical Museum from its original purpose of a 
mixed popular collection into purely Scottish channels, and 
made it, if not the " standard text-book of Scottish song for 
all time," at least a work with something of the quality and 
permanence of a classic. The object of this and of Thom- 
son's more genteel collection was first of all musical ; they 
sought to give to a public already formed a full and repre- 
sentative body of the Scottish melodies, supplied with words 
that could be sung in the concert hall and drawing-room, as 
well as in the cottage or on the hayfield. Although much 
had been done by Ramsay and others, the popular melodies 



xlvi INTRODUCTION. 

were still far more numerous than the versions to which 
they could be sung ; many of the fine airs that were float- 
ing among the people had words either silly or indecorous. 
And, further, owing to the fact that melodies persist while 
words change, " many of the Scots airs had outlived their 
own and perhaps many subsequent sets of verses except a 
single name or phrase or sometimes one or two lines simply 
to distinguish the tunes by.''^ It was Burns's task to collect 
these scattered fragments of Scottish song, and transmit 
them to Johnson and to Thomson with suitable words, either 
picked up or composed by himself. The slight acquaintance 
he had with the violin enabled him to gather and save many 
melodies, often from the singing of old women and country 
girls at their work. In Thomson's collection they suffered 
from their setting by the German composers, Haydn, Bee- 
thoven, Pleyel, and others, who wrote the arrangements ; 
but Burns's correspondence with Thomson shows how jeal- 
ously he sought to guard the melodies in their quaint native 
originality. '^ Whatever Mr. Pleyel does, let him not alter 
one iota of the original Scottish airs." The words, too, 
wherever these were in harmony with the sentiment of the 
music, he transmitted in their integrity. But where the 
words were incomplete or weak or indecent, he worked out 
a version that would ^' say " the song. 

Even in his earliest songs he adopted the custom followed 
in his later life, of making the song grow out of the melody. 
Thus his songs sing themselves. This melodious quality is 
more than literary, and sometimes it is combined with a par- 
tial neglect of pure literary excellences ; it belongs to that 
range of art where music and poetry occupy common ground. 
He thus describes his method of composition : ^' Until I am 
complete master of a tune in my own singing (such as it is), 
I can never compose to it. My way is : I consider the 

1 Cromek's Reliques of Robert Burns, p. 131. Philadelphia, 1809. 



INTRODUCTION. xlvii 

poetic sentiment corresponding to my idea of the musical 
expression, then choose my theme, begin one stanza, and 
when that is composed, which is generally the most difficult 
part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, 
look out for objects of nature around me that are in unison 
and harmony . . . humming every now and then the air 
with the verses I have composed. When I feel my muse 
beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my 
study, and there commit my effusions to paper, swinging at 
intervals on the hind legs of my elbow chair by way of call- 
ing forth my own critical strictures." ^ Elsewhere he writes: 
"These old Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental that, when 
one would compose to them, to 'sowthe the tune,' as our 
Scotch phrase is, over and over is the readiest way to catch 
the inspiration." ^ From first to last he thus composed his 
songs in an element of music of the finest and simplest 
emotional quality, and that is one reason why his songs are 
emotionally so rich.^ 

By far the greater number of the songs which bear his 
name are only modifications of older songs that had long 
been current. But that this work of rescue is little second 
in importance to his original work is sufficiently indicated 
by such recoveries and improvements as Ca the Yotves^ Dun- 
can Gray^ Gala Water ^ and Auld Lang Syne, These rifaci- 
menti range from trivial verbal alterations to songs in which 
he merely preserves a chorus or the title and a line or two. 
From his MS. notes to the first four volumes of Johnson's 
Museum * and his letters to Thomson, we see that he was 
thoroughly versed in the history of Scottish song, and that 

1 Letter to Thomson, September, 1793. 

2 Comin. PI. Bk., September, 1784, Mx^di^x Montgomerie's Peggy. 

3 Further reference to this subject in detail is made in the notes. 
See also the Thomson correspondence. 

* Collected and printed by Cromek in his Reliques. 



xlviii INTRODUCTION. 

he regarded this upon which he was engaged as a national 
work involving the honor of his native land. Every scrap 
of song that he could find giving any indication or possibility 
of genius he treasured and turned to account ; and to John- 
son he expressed himself as ready to ^' beg, borrow, or steal " 
for the furtherance of his patriotic object. " The chorus is 
old, the rest is mine"; ^' music good, verses just above 
contempt " ; " such a beautiful air to such execrable verses " ; 
" where old titles convey any idea at all, it is usually in the 
spirit of the air " ; ^' insipid stuff, but I will not alter except 
where I myself at least think I can amend"; *' I have 
adopted the two first two lines and am going on witK the 
song on a new plan," — these few quotations at random show 
his attitude towards his material and his method of working 
it. A reading of his correspondence with Thomson will 
show further that he rescued and altered not as an antiquary, 
but with the instinct of a poet. It is needless to emphasize 
the fact that his improvements, in point of genius, far tran- 
scend all that he improved upon; it is more important to 
notice that this clarification of genius, and not the ''inspired 
scavenger " kind of work frequently credited to him, con- 
stitutes the purification he gave to Scottish song. Having 
saved those floating strands of lyric genius, he incorporated 
them into the warp and woof of his own composition, and 
they are as truly his as the Arthurian idylls are Tennyson's. 
What he did was to redeem the old as well as to reinspire 
the new, to concentrate a national enthusiasm within himself, 
to give coherence and body to it, and to reanimate, imper- 
sonate, and glorify the lyric genius of his race and country. 
His purely original work was likewise, first of all, inspired 
by the music of his fatherland. One of his best, the baccha- 
nalian Willie Brewed a Peck o^ Maiit, was composed without 
this inspiration ; likewise the passionate rhetoric of A Man ^s 
a Ma?i for a" That, But we know how the music of The 



INTRO D UCTION. xlix 

Wren' s Nest thrilled him as he wrote O Wert Thou in the Caidd 
Blast, and how the old strains of Katherine Ogie lent their 
pathos to Highland Mary ; we can hear the reel time in O 
Tibbie, I Hae Seen the Day and the martial beat of Hey Tuttie 
Taitie in Scots Wha Hae ; the wild notes of Macphersoii' s Rant 
give their fire to the Farewell, and the lilt of Daintie Davie 
rings in every line of Rantin Roi'i?i Robin. The list might 
be indefinitely extended, and the subject offers a far deeper 
satisfaction than the mere gratification of curiosity. Those 
who see in the songs of Scotland only pleasant little ditties, 
to which they might listen with the same amusement as to 
negro minstrelsy on a banjo, are ignorant of the fact that 
Burns has converted these melodies into the most passionate, 
most tender, most humorous interpretations of the funda- 
mental emotions of the human heart. To the fact that 
Burns had one of the most vigorous and penetrating intel- 
lects ever given to men, add that the melodies which he in- 
terpreted came to him laden with the griefs, joys, and 
humors of several centuries of national life, add the lyric 
genius of the interpreter and the trembling passion of his 
heart, and Scottish song in his hands begins to throw off its 
local or provincial interest, and to assume the value of a 
KTTjixa is aet, a human possession for all time. 

It is true that he has dealt with the subject of love more 
conspicuously than with any other. But, to say nothing of 
the superb excellence of his love songs merely as such, it 
should be noted that the passion of love scarcely ever stands 
alone as a source of interest. In many it is adventitious 
and subordinate, and the song takes its quality from a totally 
different source, — from its martial heroism in Go Fetch to 7ne 
a Fi?tt of Wine, its heart-breaking pathos in Bonie Doon, its 
brisk and winning audacity in O for Ane-a?id-twenty, Tain, 
its pastoral quietness in Ca the Yowes, its arch humor in i^//;^ 
can Gray, its chivalry of pure respect in The Banks of the 



1 INTR OB UC TION. 

DeiJon^ its feminine roguishness in Last May a Braw Wooer, 
its unearthly consecration in To Mary in Heaven. In these 
and many more the range is scarcely limited at all by the 
fact that they have love for their text. He had a theory, 
happily not adhered to, that love and wine were the exclu- 
sive themes of song, but the preponderance of his love songs 
is merely due to the fact that he was so much more of a 
human being than most; they come from the overflowing 
fullness of his animal life in the best sense of that word. 

But though we set aside his love songs altogether, he 
would still be the author of Aiild Lang Syjie, that universal 
consecration of friendship ; oi John Anderson 7nyJo, in which 
he has equally for all time consecrated the long devotion of 
wedded life ; of A Alan 's a Man for a' That, in which he has 
crystallized the spirit of democratic manhood ; of Scots Wha 
ILae, which gives in a burning drop the quintessence of the 
struggle for independence that created Scotland; of Mac- 
pherson's Farewell, which immortalizes while it interprets the 
baffled spirit of the outlaw ; of Rantin Rovin Robi?t, the para- 
gon of birthday songs, and WiHie Brewed a Peck o' Maut, 
which makes bacchanalian good-fellowship sublime. We 
should still have the fireside charm of Contented wi' Little, the 
breath of the hills in My LLeart V in the LLighlands, the bitter- 
ness of exile in The Bonie Banks of Ayr, the national defiance 
of Does LLaiighty Gaul Liivasion Jhreat, the droll bickering of 
My Spouse A^ancy, the homely peace of Bessie and her Spinnin 
Wheel, the motherly playfulness of LLey Baloo my Sweet Wee 
Donald, the " green pleasures and gray grief " of premature 
old age in The Auld Man, the heroism of KeJiviure, the fun 
of The Weary Fund o' Tow, the quaintly tragic trepidations 
of What Will L do gin 7?ty LLoggie Die. These and many 
others, into which the passion of love in its limited sense 
does not enter at all, show a many-sidedness of genius 
nowhere approached in the songs of any other writer. 



INTR on UC TION. li 



VI. BURNS'S WORK IN GENERAL. 

More directly as regards the substance and quality of 
Burns's work and its position in the historic development of 
English literature, its distinctive marks are those that signify 
the rise of the new poetry which reached its culminating points 
in Wordsworth and Byron, — a return to natural subjects 
and a new sincerity in the treatment of them. In neither of 
these respects was this literature new to Scotland except in 
so far as the magnitude of Burns's genius made it so. But 
both subject and treatment were so novel to English litera- 
ture that on receipt of a volume of Cowper's poems, written 
almost contemporaneously with Burns's earlier work, Benja- 
min Franklin was so impressed with the " something new '^ 
in them that he read the poems a second time. As matter 
and treatment cannot well be separated in any great work, 
what is said on these subjects is here arranged under a 
classification of the former, which fairly covers the range of 
the poet's material: (i) Nature inanimate; (2) Nature 
animate; (3) Man; (4) The Deil ; (5) God. Thereafter a 
few remarks are added on the Art and Ethic of his work. 

(a) Nature iitariimate. 

Though Burns was reared in close neighborhood with the 
mountains and the sea, these enter but little into the sub- 
stance of his poetry. In The Vision (1. 133) he speaks of 
the delight he had as a boy in listening to the dash of the 
waves on the ^'sounding shore" ; but only once does the 
sea give him an image of rare imaginative beauty : 

The pale moon is setting behind the white wave, 
And time is setting wi' me, O. 

In general, the sea is to him, as to the popular Scottish 
mind, associated with separation and exile. It gives the 



Hi INTRODUCTION. 

sad refrain " owre the sea " to his poem Oji a Scotch Bard, 
written in anticipation of severing all his dearest ties, and 
in Auid Lang Syne friendship is knit closer by the thought 
that " seas between us braid hae roared." In respect of 
this dearth of sea atmosphere, we must remember that Burns 
was still a landsman, whose interests were fundamentally 
those of a pastoral and agricultural people ; and in later life 
the sea was to him but the harvesting ground of the smug- 
glers, whose occupation touched him on a side other than 
his poetic. Here, likewise, his poetic inheritance weighed 
upon him ; there was no sea tradition in Scottish, as there 
was in English, literature, nor was the sea associated with 
the achievement of Scottish nationality. 

Similarly, the "mountains wild" of Scotia hold themselves 
aloof from the nearest purpose of his heart and the warmest 
atmosphere of his verse. He sees them '' toss'd to the 
skies," the sun "gilds their distant brow," he "wanders on 
their heathy tops." But his hills are not the wild mountains 
of the north; they are the neighborly heights of the low- 
lands, that feed the sheep and send down the streams on 
whose banks he loves to rove. The north hills furnish him 
an element of the romance that belongs to the clans and 
Charlie, and he can sing like a clansman : 

My heart 's in the highlands, my heart is not here. 
But the mountains, like the sea, are for him symbols of 
solitude and alienation ; they are beyond his most intimate 
range, because they are not closely associated with the 
humanity that is the ultimate theme of his song. 

His attitude towards nature is well illustrated in his treat- 
ment of the wind. In its softer moods he sometimes, though 
rarely, draws upon it with fine skill for pictorial effect, as in 
the Lament of Quee^i Mary : 

Nae mair to me the autumn winds 
Wave o'er the yellow corn. 



INTRODUCTION. liii 

But he excels in describing a storm, partly because it 
appealed to his tempestuous nature, partly because it awak- 
ened his hvelier sympathy with the suffering animals. We 
recognize the mastery of stroke in Tarn o' Shanter : 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last, 
The rattlin showers rose on the blast; 

and in the Epistle to IV. S. : 

Even winter wild has charms for me, 
When winds rave through the naked tree, 
Or blindin drifts wild-furious flee, 
Darkening the day. 

This sympathy with nature in her wilder moods is the 
essence of his youthful poem, Wi?iter^ a Dirge ; it gives the 
point of departure in A Winter AHght^ and it recurs again 
and again in both poems and songs as a source of animation, 
even where he only applies it indirectly byway of contrasted 
imagery. No better description of a winter storm was ever 
written than that in the opening stanzas of A Winter Night; 
but there, as elsewhere, the passion of the storm wakens a 
strain of a different kind : 

Listenin the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
An' through the drift, deep-lairin, sprattle 

Beneath a scaur. 

And the threnody of the " winter wind " becomes a descant 
^on "man's ingratitude." 

This is the tonic note of his treatment of inanimate 
nature. Much as he loved nature, and wholesomely as he 
drew from her sweetest springs of health, her inanimate 
beauties never alone served to satisfy his human need. 
Unlike Thomson, he is never purely descriptive, unless we 



liv INTRODUCTION. 

except a few short passages like the '' spate " in The Brigs 
of Ayr and the " burnie " in Halloween; he has always an 
ulterior and more vital interest, — animate nature and hu- 
manity. Thus, in The Woods of Drumlanrig and Bruar 
Water^ both of which took their occasion from a nobleman's 
*' barbarian " disregard of natural beauty, he gives both 
woods and stream a human personality, and makes the 
interest extend to the trouts, birds, hares, lovers, and the 
^'wee white cot aboon the mill." So the mountain daisy 
becomes for him the emblem of a betrayed maidenhood and 
of his own blighted hopes. Incidental descriptions are 
merely backgrounds for something animate and human, or 
serve as decoration for a canvas in which the prime interest 
is a living one. The songs all have their origin in some 
human interest, and when the descriptive element is most 
prominent, as in My Nanie' s An^a., ox Again Rejoicing Nature 
Sees^ the description is presented not for its own sake, but as 
an offset to human emotion. 

Still, though humanity comes first and nature second in 
Burns, his love of nature is none the less intimate and sure 
on that account. Amid all his fleeting and disappointing 
loves this is the one love that is always sure, the one source 
of healing that never disappoints. That he mentions her 
only incidentally shows a finer feeling for her worth and a 
surer sense of her comfort than if he went philandering after 
her on set purpose to admire ; and, though expressed 
admiration of nature is only an incidental in his verse, it 
was no mere incidental, but an inborn habit of soul in his 
nature. Even as an incidental, it is so uniformly present 
that it amounts to a universal element. His mind is always 
full of natural beauty, always in touch with nature's refresh- 
ing power. He cannot speak to his Deil without finding 
room to adorn his address with flashes of natural description 
that make pictures in themselves. Even the bacchanalian 



INTR on UC TION. 1 V 

revel of The JoUy Begga?-s begins : " When lyart leaves 
bestrew the yird," and through the haze of tobacco smoke 
and the fumes of whisky punch we catch blinks of sun- 
shine and whiffs of the sweet field breeze. In his first 
Epistle to Davie he finely sets forth his trust in nature's 
healing influence, where he anticipates beggary as his fate ; 
in the songs this love of nature tingles with a rapture only 
short of his love for woman.^ 

Burns has none of the later Wordsworthian ^'philosophy," 
but he shows a sympathy with inanimate nature and a fresh 
delight in her beauties not excelled by Wordsworth. The 
chief features of his treatment of nature are its closeness 
and intensity ; when he writes of the mountain daisy, it is 
like a mother caressing her dying child. But there is also 
a newness that gives his poetic interpretation of nature an 
historic value. Before his day the minor Scots poets had 
habitually treated the theme, but only in a provincial way. 
In England another Scotsman, Thomson, had shown how 
nature can be turned to poetic account, but the " landscape 
glow " of Thomson still represents something lifeless and 
inconversable. In English poetry nature had been out of 
fashion for a hundred years before Burns came. Cowper, 
his contemporary, began to see nature as a living thing, and 
added the interest in humanity ; but Cowper was first of all 
a student of books, and his love of nature, human though it 
is, reflects the mild and philosophic disposition of the book- 
loving man. Burns was first of all bred in the school of 
country life. From his boyhood love of nature was a pas- 
sion in him, as it was later in Wordsworth. In his verse it 
became a rapture. Such an attitude towards nature is in 
our own day a common experience ; it was not so in the 
third quarter of last century, when Burns began to write. 
Nature worship was then unknown alike as a poetic cult and 

1 See EJ). V.y 43-52 ; cf. also T/ie V., 126 ff.; and Ep. W. S,, 67 ff. 



1 vi INTR on UC TION, 

as a popular fashion. It was Burns who first felt and 
expressed the love of nature as a real joy, and in his verse 
this humanized love first appears as a living passion in 
English poetry. 

(b) Nature animate. 

So closely allied to his love of physical nature as often to 
form part of it is his sympathy with the lower animals. But 
the animals, both wild and domestic, belong more to the 
living humanity that commands his ultimate interest, and 
his treatment of them forms no merely incidental portion of 
his work. Here we have his love for nature specialized, 
and the result is individual poems, like Poor Mai lie, Maine's 
Elegy, Aicld Mare Maggie, My Haggle, Water-fowl on Loch 
Turit, the Mouse, and the Wounded Hare, In these the 
fullness of his own animal life overflows, and his spirits and 
affection go with it. 

His domestic animals are to Burns among his dear and 
intimate friends, all the dearer by reason of their depen- 
dence and dumb Vv^ays. They cease to be part of his farm 
stock, and become poor relations whom he loves and social 
companions who can enter into his feelings and hold con- 
verse with him. Auld Mare Maggie is the record of a life- 
time of good-comradeship with his horse. He had known 
her as a foal in the pasture and watched her tricky ways. 
She had pranced with pride as she bore home his bonnie 
young wife. She had been to all the markets with him and 
carried him home when in his cups. With him she had won 
racing honors from all the roadsters of the countryside. 
She had plowed with him, carted with him, given him foals 
of her breed, shared all his troubles, and now, when they 
have worn to crazy age together, he brings her a New Year's 
handsel, and promises he will reserve a pasture for her, 
that they may still " toyte about wi' ane anither." Sympa- 



INTRODUCTION. Ivii 

thy of this kind is closely akin to humor. To this sympathy 
add a touch of drollery, and you find Burns personating them 
to the life, and becoming a sheep with Mailie and a dog 
with Luath and Caesar. Not only does Mailie, in the Elegy ^ 
descry him a long half-mile away, run to meet him with 
kindly bleat, and trot by his side through all the town, but 
in the Death and Dymg Words he assumes her individuality, 
interprets her sheep sense, gives her offspring the best of 
lessons in good sheep behavior, laments the state of her 
master's purse, and wdth her dying breath bequeaths to 
honest Hughoc that precious gift, her "blether.'' The sub- 
ject matter of The Twa Dogs is less brute than human, but its 
interpretation of Scottish peasant life is primarily set in an 
interpretation of canine life which is so sympathetic that 
the dogs never lose their identity; they are dogs from first 
to last, from the manner of their sitting down ^ to their rising 
up. They are dogs in their point of view even to such 
details as their reference to the wdiipper-in as "it," and to 
bull fighting as " fechtin' wi' nowt," or the canine sympathy 
with which Luath says : 

My heart has been sae fain to see them 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

In his treatment of wdld animals Burns is equally sympa- 
thetic and tender ; but here the brutalities of sport, which 
he ahvays denounced, and the severities of nature, w^hich 
man cannot help, deepened his humor to indignation and 
pity. The song birds, of course, belong to his lyric joy, 
and throughout his poetry w^e hear the carol of lark and 
linnet, the robin's pensive warble,^ the " wild-whistling black- 
bird," the "mellow mavis' e'enin sang." Poems and songs 
alike thrill with the happy voices of nature's wild choristers. 

1 See Burns's first reading and subsequent alteration. 

2 See note on Bruar Water^ 1. 47. 



Iviii INTRODUCTION, 

Even cries not in themselves musical become for him sounds 
of joy and expressions of nature's happiness. ^' I never 
hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer 
noon or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plovers 
in an autumnal morning without feeling an elevation of soul 
like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry."^ The other 
side to this sunny gladness of natural love is his pity for 
their sufferings when their own mother's heart seems to 
freeze towards them. Then in the stormy winter night he 
thinks of the silly sheep and the ourie cattle, and the words 
come like tears of infinite compassion. 

Ilk happin bird, wee helpless thing, 
That in the merry months o' spring 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee? 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chitterin wing 

An' close thy ee ? 

Then, while "pitiless the tempest beats," he has pity even 
for the beasts and birds of prey. This womanly tenderness, 
which is always combined with masculine strength, takes a 
still keener expression when it is touched by the thought of 
human wantonness and cruelty. Burns has frequently de- 
livered himself on the subject of field sports ; ^ but when he 
sees the waterfowl on Loch Turit rise and fly from his mere 
presence, and the poor mouse run in panic from the gauds- 
man who pursues it '^ wi' murd'rin pattle," his tenderness 
is at once irradiated by the reflection that these are his 
** fellow-creatures," and he their "earth-born companion and 
fellow-mortal." 

If he had a suggestion of this strain of sentiment from 
any one, it was from Sterne ; no previous poet had expressed 

1 Letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. i, 1789. 

^ See August So7tg to Peggy, lines On a Wounded Hare, and i)\^ open- 
ing passage of The Brigs of Ayr. 



INTRO D UCTION. 



lix 



it. But the firm strength and healthy grace of Burns's feel- 
ing, compared with Sterne's bibbering lament over the ass,^ 
again mark the advent of a new era ; here again the genu- 
ineness of his poetry shows itself. He offers none of the 
vague rhapsodies of a bleeding heart. He describes what 
he sees and what he feels. The hare he laments was one 
he saw limping past him ; he heard the shot fired and threat- 
ened to throw the wretch who fired it into the Nith. The 
mouse was one he turned up with the plow ; he saw it run 
and saved its life. Mailie was his own ^'pet yowe," to 
whom the accident happened ; he saw her " warstlin i' the 
ditch." Luath was his own dog, who talked with him and 
who knew what he said. His feelings, whether of tender- 
ness, joy, sorrow, or indignation, are always real and always 
intense. This close and loving sympathy wdth the lower 
animals found its first poetic expression in Burns and his 
contemporary Cowper, and it has never been so finely and 
amply expressed since. 

(c) Ma7i. 

As a man Burns thought nothing human alien to him. 
Like every wise artist, he handles by preference the material 
with which he is most intimate. But his secondary range 
includes every phase of humanity that comes under his 
notice, from the ragamufitins at Poosie Nansie's to the king 
upon the throne. It is a mistake to speak of his poetry as 
if its horizon w^ere limited to that of the Scottish peasant. 
Personally, he mixed on terms of intimacy with all classes. 
He numbered among his friends many leaders in the world 
of fashion, both in letters and in society, members of the 
bench and bar, clergy of the New Light, members of Parlia- 
ment, and representatives of the dramatic stage, and in the 

^ Tristrai?i Shandy, bk. vii, ch. xxxii. 



Ix INTR on UC TION. 

broader field of political life he joined hands with Washing- 
ton across the Atlantic and the French Revolutionaries 
across the channel. All of these interests appear in his 
work side by side with his pictures of the Scottish peasantry, 
and provoke verses that are instinct with character and ani- 
mation and personal contact. Apart from his familiar epis- 
tles, of which he has given us more than any other poet 
except Horace, he has left scores of epigrams, epitaphs, and 
squibs that are merely the discharge of his superabundant 
electricity when it comes into contact with anything human. 
Burns believed with Pope that '' the proper study of man- 
kind is man." But here the agreement ceases. The '' man " 
of Pope's line must, by birth, breeding, or sympathy, be an 
aristocrat, something of a wit, a townsman, and habitue of 
the coffeehouses and salons ; no other kind of man was of 
important interest. Burns's man, who is " a man for a' 
that," is of the democracy that revolted against privilege 
and accomplished the revolution. Burns himself was of the 
democracy, and all his treatment of humanity takes its tone 
and color from his democratic point of view. His father 
belonged to the unprivileged and suffering classes, and was 
harassed to the grave under the aristocratic institution of 
British landlordism. The poet himself was always poor. 
In his youth and early manhood he was only an overworked 
plowman, " half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit." He was never 
anything more than a " little farmer." His latter days were 
spent in '' searchin auld wives' barrels," — following an 
occupation that bore a worse social stigma than that of a 
policeman. His aristocratic experiences in Edinburgh and 
elsewhere were only episodes in his life. Knowing his own 
genius and having tasted of its power, knowing, too, by 
cruel experience, the hardships and sorrows of the poor, he 
very early contracted a jealousy of wealth and social dis- 
tinction which, in his later years, became inveterate. Dur- 



INTRODUCTION, Ixi 

ing his second winter in the capital, when the roses were 
now dead leaves and thorns, this jealousy was embittered 
into scorn and hate ; and, when he returned two years later, 
the picture he gives of himself and of his reflections amid the 
pomp of Princes Street is curiously like that of Langland 
five hundred years before in the Strand of London.^ This 
Fie7's Plow7nan element of his character is deeply marked in 
his writings, especially in his prose, but he was saved from 
its warping influences by his sanguine temperament, his 
elastic joy in living, his humor, and his faith in human 
goodness. 

British class distinction, then, is not merely one of the 
influences that affected Burns's view of life : it is the social 
groundwork on v/hich his poems are built. This was not 
so much a distinction between rich and poor as between 
aristocracy and plebs, — a distinction then so implicitly 
accepted as a fundamental part of human destiny that even 
Burns regards it as inexorable. It is true he denies the 
rationality and justice of it, and his attitude towards it, even 
in his early poems, is a kind of rebellious uneasiness and 
resentment. In Man Was Made to Moiirfi, looking sadly on 
the fields " where hundreds labor to support a haughty lord- 
ling's pride," he asks, in angry mood : 

If I 'm designed yon lordling's slave — 

By nature's law designed — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 

But he sees no remedy except in death. ^ He is no apostle 
of the rebellion which expresses itself in lawlessness and 
disorder. He looks clean through the guises of distinction, 
and king, queen, and royal family in A Dream, and the 

1 See letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Mar. 4, 1789. Cf. Piers Plowman' s 
Vision. 2 Cf. Ep. to Davie, 11. 16 ff. 



Ixii INTR on UC TIOJV. 

aristocratic leaders of the nation in his Earnest Cry and 
Prayer cease to be " personages," and become men and 
women whom he levels to their rank as human beings by 
right of his common humanity. But this intuitive process 
must not be confounded with political or social leveling. 
The disillusionment he brings is not that of political radical- 
ism, but of sheer human nature. He professed to learn from 
Lord Daer " to meet with unconcern one rank as well 's an- 
other " ; but, although to him "• the rank was but the guinea's 
stamp" and "the man the gowd," he never proposed to 
abolish the stamp and reduce society to the bullion of hu- 
manity. Social distinction never enhanced a person's value 
in his eyes, but he accepted aristocracy, squirearchy, and 
gentry in general as part of the social economy which pro- 
duced the cotter, and which, while he did not defend it, he 
had too strong sense impotently to attack. 

Compared Dream^'\\\\ another poem, in which he reaches 
to the opposite pole of British distinction. The Jolly Beggars, 
The poem is a work of divination by which he lays bare the 
human heart of the vagabond, as in the other he pierces to 
the quick of royal humanity. In it the claims of rank dis- 
appear, and his assertion of human freedom presents itself 
in a way that startles. We are introduced to the kitchen of 
Poosie Nansie's public house, where round the fire on an 
early winter night there are met seven or eight tramps of all 
shades and both sexes, who drink their superfluous money, 
pawn their clothes for more, and make the rafters shake 
with revelry in celebration of their defiant liberties. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast; 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 
What is reputation's care ? 



INTRODUCTION. Ixiii 

If we lead a life of pleasure, 
'T is no matter how or where. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 

Here we are not merely outside the range of social distinc- 
tions : we are even outside the range of social restraint and 
the simple regimen of the ten commandments. But, wild as 
the scene is, we are down on the bed rock of human nature. 
But the great body of his work is not only surrounded by 
an atmosphere of Scottish rural life, it is made up of scenes 
and studies in the lives and manners of the Scottish peas- 
antry from the peasant's point of view. The Twa Dogs, a 
poem drawn direct from what he saw on his father's farm, is 
a picture of the two sides of British country life. It is 
not *' the old controversy between the rich and the poor."^ 
It rests on the sharp aristocratic distinction between a privi- 
leged landed gentry and an unprivileged yeomanry and 
peasantry, who still maintain much of the mediaeval distinc- 
tion between Norman baron and Saxon hind. Unless this 
is understood the point of the poem is missed. The side 
which Caesar portrays is what Burns knew by every ache in 
his soul and body. He had worked with "the unceasing 
moil of a galley slave" to make up the '' racked rent." The 
laird's whipper-in, " wee blastit wonner," had many a time 
ridden full cry hunting the fox over his father's crops, with 
the hunters at his heels. His pride had often been stung to 
see how the gentry would '' gang as saucy by poor folk as I 
wad by a stinkin brock." The scene described in lines 93- 
100 is taken from one of the experiences that drove his 
father to the grave a broken man. His secondary descrip- 

1 Shairp^s Burns (Eng. Men of Letters), p. 191. 



Ixiv INTRODUCTION. 

tions of "gentry's life in common," their follies, vices, and 
ennui, are taken from current belief amongst his own class. 
If this side alone were portrayed, the poem would be a 
moral satire, as bitter and realistic as portions of Fiers Flow- 
man. It takes a sweeter and more ideal complexion from 
the pictures drawn by Luath of the cotters' fireside joys, 
their harvest homes, and new-year merry makings, their 
village politics, their thriving children, their blink of rest. 
Underneath their unlovely toil and semi-starvation he rec- 
ognizes the ethical beauty of their lives. But neither is 
Luath's idealism divorced from what is real. He, too, is 
keenly realistic in his detail of the cotter " howkin in a 
sheugh," the " smytrie o' wee duddie weans," the " twal- 
pennie worth o' nappie," the "luntin pipe an' sneeshin mill," 
the "wee touch langer an' they maun starve o' cauld an' 
hunger." But over it all he sheds the soft light of human 
love, and a new ethical strength is felt when he says that 

Buirdly chiels an' clever hizzies 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

In The Twa Dogs he accepts the division in social life, and, 
seeing the futility of kicking against the pricks,* he softens 
the severity of the contrast by the sunshine of human affec- 
tion. In The Cotter's Satu?'day AUght and in Halloween we 
have pictures of the same rural life, into which the disturb- 
ing influence of class distinction does not enter. There he 
forgets there is such a thing as social inequality, and de- 
scribes the peasantry in the quiet dignity and devotion of 
their cottage homes and in the innocent mirth of their rustic 
festivals. T'he Holy Fair describes a country gathering of 
another and less innocent kind, while it shows up a different 
side of Scotch religion. In the Haggis and Scotch Drink he 
gives a poetic celebration and something of national glory 
to the countryman's food and liquor. In the Deilhe touches 



INTRODUCTION. Ixv 

off rustic superstitions regarding the fourth person of the 
Scottisli godhead. In general, his poetry is a reflex of the 
country Ufe of Scotland in all its beauty and ugliness, its 
mingled faith and superstition, piety and irreverence, sobriety 
and drunkenness, integrity and hypocrisy, and from its 
strength and lifelike truth in this it takes its primary value. 
But in three respects his treatment of life rises out of 
this provincial atmosphere, — its patriotic and national tone, 
its universal quality, and its look towards the future. Patriot- 
ism is never merely provincial, and no poetry was ever more 
intensely patriotic than that of Burns. Patriotic in that it 
gathers up the traditions and elements of Scottish national 
life and character, it is still more so in the fire of national 
pride with which the poet himself is aglow. He is a national, 
not a local, poet, and, although his Scotland is a thing of the 
past, his poetry will endure, not as a provincial product, but 
as a national monument. Secondly, his poetry has that 
which makes it appeal as directly to Americans and foreign- 
tongued Europeans as to Scotsmen. Shining through the 
local and particular, there is always the universal element 
which we find in the men and w^omen of Shakspere's dramas. 
His men and women are, first of all, human beings ; only 
in a secondary sense are; they peasants of Ayrshire. We 
miss, it is true, those fine forms of nobility which Shakspere 
found it easier to create because he had them always 
before his eyes. Burns, too, missed them ; hence much of 
his warfare with the time that was " out of joint." But, such 
as it is, his material is the permanent substance of human 
nature, and his treatment is so free from the intellectual 
astigmatism which constitutes provinciality that, next to 
Shakspere, he is, perhaps, the most intimately known foreign 
poet in Germany. But, thirdly, Burns was beyond the atmos- 
phere of provincial humanity, in that both as man and poet 
he embodied the germinal ideas of the new democracy which 



Ixvi INTRODUCTION. 

was to be the most active force in the life and literature of 
the succeeding age, — individual right and human brother- 
hood. His actual politics count for little. Singing in the 
morning twilight of modern times, he had no clear percep- 
tion of political liberty and political equality based on the 
above ideas ; he had no "- theory of government." But his 
imagination anticipated the time when these principles would 
dominate all political life and transfigure the nations of the 
world. His political sympathies, which sprung from his 
feeling for the pain of life among the unprivileged toilers, 
belong to his recognition and assertion of the claims of 
human worth and the nobility that is alike unauthenticated 
and unabashed by rank. His poetry gave these claims 
irresistible utterance. It was a voice straight from the 
democracy, speaking for the democracy with unexampled 
directness, energy, and pride ; and in this, not less than in 
his poetic interpretation of nature and his sympathy with 
the lower animals, he was the pioneer of a new reiiaissance, 

(d) The Deil, 

In Burns's treatment of the supernatural we find a similar 
freshness and originality. Twice he introduces figures that 
appear like veritable apparitions, — Coila, in The Vision^ and 
Death, in Dr. Hornbook^ — and a comparison of these will 
show where his strength lies. We are prepared for both, in 
the first case by the poet's reverie, in the second by his 
assumed condition. In both cases, as soon as the visitant is 
observed the illusion of the supernatural disappears. Both 
apparitions are flesh and blood ghosts. We are beyond the 
world of mere illusion and in the presence of beings that 
have the reality which belonged to similar creations of the 
Hellenic mind. Coila is quite a corporeal Scotch lassie. 
Death is fearfully real in his gaunt length, with his thin 



IN TR on UC TION. Ix vii 

shanks and " fient a wame," his implements and his beard and 
the fit of temper in which he '' nearhand cowps." But 
Death is a creation of humor, and therein lies its superiority. 
The serious and the supernatural do not seem to accord in 
Burns's mind. Even the fine poetic illusion of the fairies 
dancing on the ^' infant ice " under the brigs of Ayr passes 
away among capitalized abstractions. And Burns is less at 
home among ''spirits of health" than among "goblins 
damned." Death himself has an element of diablerie in his 
composition, and, apart from the above, the supernatural in 
his work is wholly devilish in its origin and wholly humor- 
ous in its character. 

The reason is that forhim the supernatural was insepar- 
ably associated with the teachings of the Scotch theology 
which he did so much to discredit and wipe out, especially the 
doctrine of eternal torture in a material hell of flaming sul- 
phur under the eye of a personal devil. In rejecting crude 
mediaevalism of this kind. Burns makes fun of hell and 
friendship with the Deil. In The Holy Fair " black Russell " 
describes the place of torture and "harrows their souls." 

The half-asleep start up wi' fear 

An' think they hear it roarin ; 
When presently it does appear 

'T was but some neibor snorin. 

The Address to the Deil runs over the whole ground of kirk 
teaching and popular superstition, and with mock serious- 
ness preserves the point of view and the emotion proper to 
each part of the subject ; but at the close the poet and the 
Deil shake hands. 

Combined with this direct teaching of the kirk w^as a 
great mass of floating superstition, partly Celtic, partly 
Norse in its origin, which the kirk likewise consigned to the 
devil under the elastic name of witchcraft. Burns learnt all 



Ixviii INTR OD UC TION. 

of this folk superstition in his childhood from old Betty 
Davidson/ and so vividly was it impressed on his imagina- 
tion that even in manhood he confessed it ^' took an effort 
to shake off these idle terrors." Some of this is worked into 
the substance of Halloween. That is the night when the 
fairies dance and the natural and supernatural worlds come 
close together. The spells are all innocent enough, but 
there is a shadowy background to the scene, in which the 
powers of Satan darkly shift about and threaten with vague 

alarms. 

Mony a ane has gotten a fricht 
An' lived an' died deleerit 
On sic a nicht. 

But in all the spells tried the dim terrors of the supernatural 
are softened and made familiar with touches of humor. 
There is the same familiarizing touch in Tarn o' Slia?iter^ 
where the devil and his troop appear in person. The poem 
takes its departure from a scene of over-jollity; the kirk 
scene is equally hilarious, though the mirth be the mirth of 
devils ; the hero's tipsy cry " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " is a 
touch of pure humor ; and the fate of mare Meg is not tragic, 
but comical. In spite of the accumulated horrors that 
impart such eeriness to Tam's ride, the grewsome parapher- 
nalia that adorn the church walls and the holy table, and 
the actual presence of Satan and the witches, the poem, 
though it has much of the tragic circumstance, has nothing 
of the tragic terror of the witch scenes in Macbeth. 

Burns's treatment of the Deil in person brings to a head 
all these qualities of reality, humanism, humor. The devil 
of kirk theology and popular credence was a mere bugaboo 
with hardly a remnant of fallen greatness about him. He was 
the devil of the Miracle plays, to whom Protestant Scotland 
had fallen heir. In the Address Burns takes him as he is. 

1 See note on The Deil^ 1. 63. 



INTRODUCTION, Ixix 

His Deil is what the Satan who lost paradise has become 
during eighteen centuries of ecclesiastical bullying and ill 
usage. He has forgotten the days when he held brusque 
converse with the Omnipotent in the presence chamber of 
heaven, and has sunk to bagpiping at a witch's splore. He 
has lived in Scotland, and been persecuted, maligned, 
affronted, and nicknamed by the respectabilities of the kirk 
till he has lost all self-respect and taken to low mischief, — 
unroofing the churches, making the cows *' yeld," frighten- 
ing the nightly wayfarer by quacking like a wild duck. 
With a touch of his ancient poetry, he still loves to quit the 
haunts of men and wander in lonely glens where ruined cas- 
tles nod to the moon ; but hard treatment and lack of sym- 
pathy have done their work. Burns gives him sympathy 
such as he never has got before or since. He calls him 
away from his ugly business of basting poor wretches with 
liquid brimstone, talks over old times with him, reminds him 
of his former glory, — of '' Eden's bonie yard," where he 
gave the infant world a " shog " that nearly ruined all, of 
the festive time he had with Job, when, with a consummate 
genius for wickedness, he capped the old man's misery by 
unloosing his wife's tongue upon him. Probably he is now 
too far gone for complete restitution, but, believing that even 
the deil is not so bad as he is painted, the poet bids him a 
tender good by, with a word of charitable sympathy that is 
like a message direct from heaven : " O wad ye tak a thocht 
an' mend." 

(e) God. 

The subject of religion enters to a vital extent into the 
body of Burns's writings and affects these in three ways, 
which appear (i) in his objective pictures of the simple faith 
and practice of the Scottish peasantry, (2) in his satires on 
the official religion of the kirk, and (3) in personal expres- 



Ixx INTRODUCTION, 

sions of religious thought and feeling throughout his poems 
and letters. 

Bred in a religious home like that described in The 
Cotter's Saturday Night, he absorbed its influences with a 
fervor that made him noted in his boyhood for an enthusias- 
tic and unreasoning piety/ and in later years he never forgot 
the religion he learned at his father's hearth. To this The 
Cotter's Saturday Night is as noble a tribute as any poet 
ever paid to faith in God. The E?iglish Men of Letters 
critic somewhat grudgingly reminds the reader that " the 
religion there described w^as his father's faith, not his own''; 
but a more intimate personal interest is added in the fact 
that on his father's death the poet took his place as head of 
the family, and every night conducted the same family wor- 
ship ; long afterwards the hired man remembered those 
prayers. At Ellisland, too, he regularly held family wor- 
ship with his servants, and in his letters he always recog- 
nizes the necessity of ^'regular intercourse with the Deity" 
as a condition of inward peace. He knew the value of this 
simple faith in the upbuilding of character ; and, though The 
Cotter's Saturday Night takes its prime value from its objec- 
tive as a faithful and loving portrayal of the devout side of 
Scottish rustic life, it is none the less a subjective revelation 
of the mind that could thus faithfully see and lovingly express 
the moral beauty of the scene ; the poem derives its color 
from the light of the poet's soul. 

The other side of Scotch religion was that represented in 
the kirk theology, which had come down inviolate from the 
days of John Knox and the Westminster Confession, — the 
ruthless Calvinism of the old Scotch Puritans divested of 
its old Puritan grandeur. Just as Burns was coming to his 
maturity and beginning to feel the first pride of intellect, it 

1 Letter To Dr. Moore, Aug. 2, 1787; cf. To Mrs. Dimlop, Dec. 29, 
1795- 



INTRODUCTION, Ixxi 

happened that a broader and milder conception of divine 
providence, which had for some time been growing among 
the more enlightened and less ascetic clergy, asserted itself 
in the church, and Ayrshire in particular was the arena in 
which the Old Light and the New were arrayed against each 
other. Burns's intellectual sympathies were all with the 
New Light clergy ; his moral sympathies, too, were aroused 
against the intolerance, hypocrisy, and uncharitableness 
bred and fostered by the old orthodoxy ; and his sense of 
humor and power of sarcasm were excited to irrepressible 
activity by the Herds and Holy Willies and ^' unco guid '' in 
general who stood for Election and Grace. 

His kirk satires, deplored by his English Men of Letters 
biographer, are a class by themselves, and form a chapter in 
the history of religious liberty. **Not Latimer, not Luther, 
struck more telling blows against false theology than did 
this brave singer.''^ But it is more than false theology he 
arraigns and castigates. He not only exposes cant, hypoc- 
risy, and superstition in general, and holds up to derision 
dogmas and observances grown worse than obsolete ; he 
drives the theological satire home to the moral life, and for 
his victims he selects by undisguised name the actual pro- 
fessors and devotees of the ultra-Calvinistic faith, who were 
known in person to all who read the satires. All of these 
objects he assails with a vehemence that might be thought 
vindictive were not the satirist in such splendid good-humor ; 
and he punishes them with a soundness and penetrative 
force that entitle him to rank as high among religious 
reformers as mere satire will entitle a man to be placed. 
As literary works they are marked by keen human sympathy 
and virile moral strength, a revel of mother wit and humor 
and blistering sarcasm, daring strokes of imagination that 
blend the humorous with the sublime, realism to a degree 

1 Emerson on Burns, 



Ixxii INTRODUCTION. 

that startles, extraordinary facility of versification, and force 
of language that crushes like a trip-hammer. The outcry 
about Burns's " want of religion " was largely due to those 
satires, to the animosity they excited in the church party, 
and to the scandals encouraged by those who smarted under 
his lash. In justice to him who thus held up to ridicule and 
shame what to him was false religion, it should be noted 
that the essential points for which he contended are now 
matters of commonplace acceptance even in Scotland, and 
what he assailed has mostly been allowed to disappear. It 
should also be remembered that the author of Holy Willie's 
Prayer is likewise author of The Cotter's Saturday Night} 

Neither the religion of the Cotter, however, nor that of 
Holy Willie was Burns's own. For one of his intellectual 
strength, roused as it was to searching activity by the agi- 
tations of the modern spirit working within him, the simple 
faith of his father could not suffice. The remembrance of 
it, indeed, remained with him always, like an autumnal sun- 
set, but it touched only the emotional side of his nature. It 
left his intellect unsatisfied. Orthodoxy, again, with its 
incredible dogmas, its travesty of divine goodness, and its 
inconsistent practice, affronted alike his intellect and his 
moral sense. What remained for him in that age ? Only 
the sterile Deism of the more cultured classes and the 
"obstinate questionings" and ecstatic aspirations of his 

1 For a succinct and sympathetic account of these satires, the student 
is referred to Professor Nichol's monograph, pp. 21-24. f" the present 
volume the mildest of the series is given. The Holy Fai?-, and the epistle 
in which he summarizes the fight, Ep. to McMath. In the notes to 
these and to the Ep. to William Simsoit special detail is added. For 
convenience the complete list is here given : The Twa Herds, Ep. to 
Goiidie, Ep. to Simsoii (postcript), The Holy Fair, Holy Willie'' s Prayer 
(with the Epitaph), Ep. to McMath, The Ordinatio7i, and The Kirk's 
Alar77i. Add The Calf, Dedication to Gavin Hafnilton, and To the Unco 
Gtiid, which partake of the same inspiration. 



INTRODUCTION. Ixxiii 

own soul. Beginning in England with Hobbes as a reaction 
against the dogmatic assumptions of Puritanism, the semi- 
religious philosophy of Deism passed into the general body 
of 1 8th century literature, and was part of Burns's literary 
inheritance. It appealed to him more directly in the precept 
and practice of his friends of the New Light. It was poor 
spiritual diet for a man of his ardent and adoring nature, 
but it was all the age had to offer him as intellectual 
support for his adorations, and he accepted it. So far as 
his faith was positive, it consisted in the Deism of his age, 
so modified as to accord with the warmer impulses of his 
heart and his instinctive need of divine sympathy. This is 
the religion we find in his metrical Prayers^ and in casual 
utterances like that in his Sketch o?t New Year's Day, 1790. 
But Deism, — the product, as it was the faith, of an age 
and society that on the moral side were carnal, unfeeling, 
and insincere, on the spiritual side shallow, skeptical, and 
materialistic, — while it partially satisfied his intellect, failed 
to satisfy his emotional needs and the finer part of his spirit. 
Measured by the standard of both earlier and later times, 
the 1 8th century was irreligious ; Burns was formed to be a 
deeply religious man. His nature seemed to demand the 
closest relations with Deity, and, finding in the temples no 
God, but only a formula or else a monster, he broke into 
importunate beseechings, like a child crying for its absent 
father. His spiritual disappointment reacted with a violence 
that overwhelmed him with doubts, and threatened even to 
shake his foundations. At times, like Hamlet, he almost 
vainly tried to believe that the soul was "a thing immortal,'' 
while he half mistrusted that death might be '' a quietus." 
On other articles of common Christian belief he showed less 
of creed faith than of the faith that lies in *' honest doubt." 
But through all his darkness and conflict he clung to faith 
in God, and, as he never spoke otherwise than reverently of 



Ixxiv INTRODUCTION. 

things truly sacred, so he ever upheld the value of sincere 
religion.^ If by religion we mean an inspiring and sustain- 
ing sense of close personal alliance with God, we do not 
find Burns possessed, to the annihilation of uncertainty, of 
an absorbing trust of this kind. But this defect of his 
religion belonged to the age in which he had to work out 
his own salvation. He came at the close of an era of mun- 
dane skepticism, when the new era of spiritual insight was 
only beginning to dawn. He fretted for what was not. To 
him, as to Hamlet, the time was out of joint, and the spite 
was that he was one of those "born to put it right." 

The post-revolutionary era has formed a different concep- 
tion of God, and has given a larger content to the idea of 
religion, and the influences that produced this renovation 
were primarily those which found one of their earliest and 
most substantial embodiments in Burns and Burns's work. 
It is the function of men of his type to act as regenerative 
forces ; they sink the plow and bring up the world's sub- 
soil. Even in that materialistic and superstitious age Burns 
had a strong intuition of the spiritual forces that inform and 
control the material universe, — that which later became the 
poetic sense of God in Nature. He had likewise, in spite 
of personal waywardness, an unfailing realization of alle- 
giance to the forces that make for righteousness and perma- 
nence in human life, — that which later became the religion 
of humanity. A few months before he died he hailed with 
delight Cowper's Task., and recognized its new and kindred 
spirit, '' bating a few scraps of Calvinistic divinity," as " the 
religion of God and nature, the religion that ennobles man." ^ 

1 His letters on this subject form one of the most pathetic chapters 
in all spiritual autobiography. See especially To Ja7nes Candlish^ Mar. 21, 
1787 ; To Mrs. Dtuilop^ Feb. 12, 1788, June 21, Sept. 6, and Dec. 13, 
1789 ; and To Cunningham, Feb. 14, 1790, Aug. 22, 1792, and Feb. 25, 
1794. 2 Letter To Mrs. Bunlop, Dec. 25, 1795. 



INTRODUCTION. Ixxv 

And this side of his religion is summed up in his own 

words : 

The heart benevolent and kind 
The most resembles God. 



(f) Art a7zd Ethic. 

Since art implies a subjective process as well as an objec- 
tive result, it is inevitable that the artistic product should 
take not only its tone and color but its essential meaning 
and value from the character of the artist's mind. This is 
what we mean by -^^09, or ethical quality, and this ethic 
is the element which gives the artistic product its ultimate 
worth as a life-giving or life-perverting power, w^hether the 
artist wills it or not. Any phase of weakness or disease in 
the artist's mind will as surely reveal itself in the art he pro- 
duces, as health, strength, and sympathy with all things 
good and sound will serve to make his work a human restor- 
ative and invigorant. Art absolutely void of this ethical 
quality does not exist, for this would mean that neither the 
art product nor the artist nor the life he seeks to portray had 
any character at all. 

The humblest and least artistic way in which this ethic 
reveals itself is that of direct moral teaching, and for a poet 
Burns has an unusual amount of this kind of material. Con- 
spicuous among poems with this direct moral bearing are 
the Address to the Unco Guid^ A Bard^s Epitaph^ and 
Epistle to a Yoimg Friend. Closely akin to these are poems 
of a moralistic turn, like Friar's Carse Hermitage. To the 
same tendency belongs that strain of moralizing in which he 
loves to indulge in his w-ork in general, as in Man was Made 
to Mourn, some of the Epistles, the Cotter, the closing 
stanzas of the Z>aisy and the Mouse, the purple patch on 
Tarn 0' Shanter. In this he merely followed a fashion preva- 
lent in 1 8th century literature; but, while the i8th century set 



Ixxvi INTRODUCTION. 

him the example, the quaUty of his ethical reflection takes 
us beyond the moralism of ^' an understanding age " to the 
root wisdom of mankind. No previous moralist taught him, 

But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
or 

O wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as ithers see us. 

This is the kind of common sense that amounts to an 
inspired revelation. It belongs to the seer who is also an 
artist. No poet was ever more richly endowed than Burns 
with this faculty of smelting the common ore of everyday 
experience. P>en in poems where the theme offers no high 
material for poetry, like the Unco Guid and the Epistle to a 
Yoimg Frie?id^ he brings such a force of sagacity to bear 
upon them, and so intimately reveals the eternal principles 
of conduct running through the mixed and drossy ore of 
human life, that almost every stanza affords some aphorism 
which has passed into our daily currency as standard coin. 

The positive content of his ethic reveals itself, first of all, 
in the preeminent humaneness of his outlook, shown in his 
tenderness for the lower animals, his sympathy with the toil- 
ing poor, his compassion for the sorrowing and suffering, 
his beautiful viisericordia. Even where the springs of pity 
are untouched, this loving kindness of nature is equally rich 
and full in his interpretation of the friendly and domestic 
affections. The ethic of friendship has never been more 
variously or feelingly portrayed than by Burns, from the 
mere bacchanalian good-fellowship of Willie Brewed a Feck 
o' Maut through the whole gamut of the Epistles to the 
imperishable bonds of Auld Lang Sy?ie. The ethic of the 
home receives from him its consummate idealization, w^hether 
it be in the lyric devotion of John Andersofi my Jo, or in the 
domestic picture of the Cotter w^ith its proud reflection : 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 



INTRODUCTION. Ixxvii 

and the noble invocation with which the poem closes ; or 
where he says more personally : 

To mak a happy fireside clime 

For weans an' wife, 
That 's the true pathos an' sublime 

O' human life. 

There the ethic is of the richest substance of human nature. 
More broadly considered, the content of this positive ethic 
consists in his regard for the simple but eternal qualities 
that beautify and ennoble character, — truth, sincerity, frank- 
ness, magnanimity, loving-kindness. These are simple quali- 
ties, but they assume a fresh value in Burns's work from the 
intensity and force with which he exhibits them. From the 
reverse side they are especially intensified by his wither- 
ing hatred for every form of human meanness. Hypocrisy, 
in particular, whether religious or social, was never so 
blasted by fire from heaven as it was by the author of Holy 
Willie's Prayer and the Address to the Unco Giiid, Other 
perversions of character are not so much held up to obloquy 
as swept beyond the horizon by the strong breeze of his 
healthy genius. If at times he exaggerates the negative 
emphasis, the positive qualities of his ethic will nevertheless 
be found, taken all in all, to embody an exacting ideal of 
right, which, in spite of pitiful confessions of failure, domi- 
nates both his personal character and his artistic work. 

What gives these ethical elements their especial force is 
the intense individualism of the man's nature. Burns was 
not imbued with the philosophic individualism into the 
" dust and powder " of which Burke, at a later time, dreaded 
lest the French Revolution should reduce the fabric of 
society. But the revolutionary idea is perceptible in his 
paramount accentuation of the claims of individual worth, 
and especially in his aggressive and sometimes defiant asser- 



Ixxviii INTRODUCTION. 

tion of independence. This is not merely the worldly inde- 
pendence of the Epistle to a Young Friend^ in which he 
recommends " gatherin gear by every wile that's justified 
by honor." Rather it is the self-confident, self-respecting 
'' pride of worth'' that is combined with "pith o' sense" in 
A Man ^s a Man ; the sentiment which animated him on his 
meeting with Lord Daer ; which made him, when he con- 
fronted the dazzle of human dignities in Edinburgh, sing in 

his heart : 

The man of independent mind, 
He looks an' laughs at a' that ; 

which enabled him during his dismal years of toil on the 
farm and in the excise to '' bear himself like a king in exile." 
In this regard his organic sentiment, to apply the words of 
Emerson, is that of absolute independence resting on a life 
of labor. He does not preach labor as a gospel, he simply 
accepts it as a fact. But he glorifies that fact. Even round 
the most sordid poverty and drudgery in the Twa Dogs he 
creates an atmosphere of ethical dignity and beauty when 
he unfolds the cotter's scenes of joy and homely heroism. 
Thus his ethic of independence takes a firmer body from the 
reality of labor on which it rests. It becomes the self- 
reliance which is a spiritual resource. It gives him the 
most substantial basis for his "criticism of life," and is at 
the same time his keenest inspiration. All his expressly 
ethical work, the matter of which is often scarcely poetical 
at all, takes its higher value from his clear recognition of 
what constitutes human worth and his allegiance to the 
essential nobility of man. All the more detailed elements 
of his ethic become, as it were, focussed in this, and receive 
such energy from the glowing mass of the poet's individ- 
uality that Burns is one of the strongest ethical forces in 
English literature. 

In its highest sense, however, this ethic belongs to his art, 



INTRODUCTION. Ixxix 

and is especially that which makes his artistic work a pos- 
session for all time. It is not *' unfair ^' — pace Carlyle — 
to " test him by the rules of art." It is true he ^* never once 
was permitted to grapple with any subject with the full col- 
lection of his strength." True, he never exercised his 
powers on the large scale of Sophocles or of Shakspere. 
But even in his most trivial work he showed the same 
artistic instinct for unity of conception, singleness of impres- 
sion, beauty and coherence of detail. Not only had he the 
fertility of creative resource which made him produce with 
the ready responsiveness of Nature when seeds are cast into 
her lap ; but his critical remarks on his songs, many of which 
are models of perfect art, show that he worked towards this 
perfection with the sedulous care of Nature when she moulds 
the frond of the fern or the blossom on the rose tree. His 
best poems reveal the same singleness amid variety of con- 
ception working out towards beauty of form and finish. His 
language always indicates the ease, and commonly the grace, 
of perfect artistic mastery. The art criticism which he 
inherited was merely external and availed him little. In 
production he simply obeyed the creative intelligence of his 
mind. Art of this kind is the analogue of the work of 
nature ; the art itself is nature, for the creative instinct of 
the artist is a mode of the formative force of the universe, 
which culminates in organic life and operates by intelligent 
design. This intelligence and this vitality are sovereign 
characteristics which give the creative art of Burns its per- 
manent strength. Amid all the turmoil of his emotions his 
intellect reigns supreme. He never works with uncertain 
or aimless activity. In him, as in nature, we find imperfec- 
tions and irregularities, but these cease to be of vital account 
when the whole makes for healthy vitality. 

The art ethic of Burns's work, then, lies in his clear 
apprehension and strong embodiment of the forces that 



Ixxx INTRODUCTION. 

make for vitality, preservation, permanence. As regards 
his own life, we know only too well that he often *' passed 
douce Wisdom's door for glaikit Folly's portals," and left a 
record which has been a favorite pacing ground for theat- 
rical moralists. He has told us all about it in his own 
words, passed his own verdict on his failings, and character- 
ized both kindly and viciously all his censors, who have 
done little more than avail themselves of his confessions. 
The Bard^s Epitaph is a moral judgment on his own life 
that in its simple solemnity and pathetic candor outweighs 
all the homilies ever preached upon it. So far as concerns 
his occasional coarseness and love of a laugh broader than 
is permitted in a drawing-room, these are qualities he shares 
with Chaucer, Shakspere, and others whose wholesome- 
ness is no more called in question than their greatness. 
These incidental qualities, which can easily be ignored, do 
not affect the essential value of his poetic work. In the 
substance of this work we find the ethical vigor and salubrity 
that come of the sound mental constitution and the healthy 
outlook on life. Barring a few spiteful but well-provoked 
epigrams, his view is always magnanimous and humane, his 
insight always true, his utterance always sincere. His heart 
is always right. Above all things, he is preeminently sane. 
He has left somewhat that we can well afford to ignore, but, 
even if we include the whole, few poets are so conspicuously 
free from all forms of literary disease as he. In days when 
art cant is not less prevalent than corrupt art, it is good to 
go out into the fresh and tonic air of a genius like Burns. 
It may bring with it a whiff of other odors besides those of 
the wild flowers and the new-plowed land, but there can be 
no doubt about its healthfulness and invigorating effect. 
If we encounter country freshness, we never run across any- 
thing sickly, and whatever is amiss or redundant comes of 
a surplus of health and an exuberant vitality. 



INTRODUCTION, Ixxxi 

As for his fame, Burns is sufficiently well established 
among civilized peoples as one of the great singers of human- 
ity. This triumph belongs to the artist, not to the moralist ; 
but it is the artist who has so far felt and understood the 
forces that make for permanence that his interpretation of 
them embodies a sound and universal ethic. With him, as 
with the great artists of the race from Homer down, art and 
ethic are one and indivisible. The art ethic is the world 
ethic. It is the vital force of nature which builds to resist 
or to correct decay, whether in physical life or in the social 
organism. We have seen how Burns caught the organic 
impulse of the new time that was making for the regenera- 
tion of society. First among modern men of great power, 
he gave this impulse artistic utterance, and, though the 
doctrine of development was to him unknown, made his art 
the medium for helping on ''the relief of man's estate." In 
this sense, even more than in point of mere sympathetic 
interest, he always keeps close to humanity. His interpre- 
tation of his art is that which sees in poetry a human restor- 
ative and help, and hence he has none of the indifference of 
spurious "art for art's sake." Nor, for the same reason, 
has he any of the beauty of decadence. His art, Hke 
nature's normal self, derives its strength and beauty from 
the energy of healthy life. It is this which gives it glow, 
elasticity, and firmness ; this which makes it salutary and 
good to look upon. Much, therefore, as the moralist may 
prize the more obvious and positive content of his ethical 
teaching, his steadfast alliance with justice, truth, kindness, 
and other forces that bind society together, what gives his 
art its richest human value is, above all, this unconscious 
ethic, which rests in the freshness of his health, in the frank 
and benign sincerity of his outlook, in the life joy and life 
courage that make his poetry a perpetual fountain of reju- 
venation, — the livsmod and livsglcede that cheered alike in 



I 



Ixxxii 



INTRO D UCTION. 



victory and defeat the Vikings, whose blood doubtless ran in 
his veins. It was this which sustained him in the misery of 
his own life, and this he has embodied in his work with a 
puissance of intellect, a winning grace of wit and humor, 
and a veracity and firmness of both substance and style 
that give him just claim to sit among the permanently great 
and beneficent spirits of the human race. 



APPENDICES. 



I. PRONUNCIATION. 

The spelling of Scotch words, as they appear in Burns's poems 
and elsewhere, is only an awkward makeshift for the representa- 
tion of the living sounds as these are heard from the lips of the 
people. There is no authoritative spelling, because the language 
has not received fixity in this respect from written usage. The 
written usage of the country is English, and in the representation 
of Scotch sounds the written equivalents are employed with their 
approximate English values. But most of the vowel sounds, and 
many of the consonants, do not correspond with those of EngHsh ; 
hence there is a great discrepancy between Burns as he appears 
in print and Burns as he is read by a native. Add to this that 
Burns was affected by the process of Anglicizing which had been 
going on for three hundred years, and largely accommodated his 
Scotch to English forms. This will easily be seen from a glance 
at his rhymes ; in many cases the English pronunciation will give 
no rhyme at all, the Scotch, a perfect rhyme. 

This accommodation to English forms is thus misleading. In 
general, the sounds of Lowland Scotch bear a much closer resem- 
blance to those of Old Norse and modern Norwegian (frequently 
in its dialectic forms) than they bear to English. High German 
likewise offers an approximation, but here greater caution is nec- 
essary. Care should especially be taken not to mince the conso- 
nants nor to thin away the vowel sounds or give them the gliding 
or vanishing quality they have in English. 

Vowel Sounds : 

A. This vowel is the shibboleth which distinguishes the two 
great divisions of dialectic accents in Lowland Scotland, — those 



Ixxxiv APPENDICES. 

north of the river Tay, in which a has the broad, open sound of 
Eng. ' ah,' and those south of the Tay and towards the west, in 
which the prevaihng a sound is closer, like Eng. ' awe.' 

1. ^ is sounded like Eng. a in 'far.' It may be long, as in 
warld^ or short, as in brak. 

(a) This sound is also deepened into that of Eng. a in ' fall,' 
in which case it is usually represented by au. It may be long, as 
waiir^ awa^ or short, as niatoi^ Jiaiid. 

2. It has also a sound similar to Fr. ^, as in ' pere ' ; e.g., 
wale., drave. This sound is frequently represented by ai: as aisle., 
haivers^ 7nah'. 

(a) This, too, is sharpened into something between Eng. a in 
^bane' and ^ in ' be ' : as haine., lanely. In this value it is fre- 
quently represented by other symbols : as ae in sae., claes j ea in 
7nea?\ bear (barley), hearse (hoarse) ; or light ai in ails^ claith. 

Sc. a has no value corresponding to Eng. a in 'man.' 

E. This has two main values : 

1. Short, almost like Eng. e in ' then,' but slightly more open : 
as het^ blether. 

2. Long, like Eng. e in 'be.' This is not a characteristically 
Scotch value ; it is oftenest represented by ee^ as in weel^ or by 
ie or ei^ as in deil^ 7iiest, spier. 

I, Y. These two have nearly the same values ; they used to 
be interchangeable. 

1. The prevailing sound is nearly the same as Eng. e in ' her' 
or i in ' bird ' : as rin^ Mug. Frequently a tc quality predomi- 
nates ; e.g., Sc. will is pronounced wull. 

2. In a few words it has a sound nearly like Eng. i in ' pin ' : 
as inither., thegither, brither (the spelling brother is to be so 
pronounced). 

3. Its diphthongal quality is usually much sharper than in 
English, and corresponds to Xorw. ei (especially in the Norwegian 
dialects), i.e., a rapid combination of Eng. a in 'fate' and ^^ in 
* fee " ; e.g., whyles, skyte, rnind (pronounced rneynd ; see EY). 

(a) Occasionally it corresponds to Eng. i in ' tire ' ; e.g., byre^ 
kye. 



APPENDICES. Ixxxv 

Final y or ie has the same Hght sound as in English ; e.g., 
bonny, bonie, 

0. This vowel has practically only one value in Scotch, that 
of Eng. o in ' hordj '; cf. Fr. 6 in ' hote.' It may be long, as in 
lord, morn, or short, as in bonie, gotten ; but its quality should 
remain the same. 

Most of the open Eng. o sounds are to be pronounced in this 
way. Sc. has no value like Eng. o in ' hot.' 

U. Two main values : 

1. A light, open sound similar to Eng. n in ' bun,' with a slight 
suggestion of an ^ : as busk, scunner. 

2. A variety of modifications shifting from Norw. j to o, Ger. 
ii to 0, or Fr. u (in tu) to eu (in peur) : diSfule, blude, sune. 
This sound is frequently represented by ui, as guid, or by oo, as 
aboo7t, broo, 

AE, AI have the sound of A, 2 : as gae (gave), ain ; or A, 2 
(a) : as^^^ (g^)? thae, raible. 

EI, IE have the sound of E, 2 : 2iS gie,Jient, abeigh, 

EY has the sound of I, 3 : 2iS gley, eydent. 

00 has regularly the sound of U, 2 : as aboon, dool, snooL 
Enghsh words spelled with 00 take this pronunciation : as ' moon,' 
* fool.' 

OU has the regular sound of Fr. ou or Eng. 00 : 2isfou, toun^ 
count, 

UI. Same as U, 2 : as bluid (also written blude ; cf. 00). 

Consonants : 

The only consonants requiring attention are : 

1. H, which, except when silent in English words like 'honor,' 
is always strongly aspirated. 

2. R, which always takes the strong Norwegian roll with the 
tip of the tongue (entirely different from the uvular Ger. and 
Dan. r). Before other liquids this roll often gives an extra 
syllable: as 

Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle. 



Ixxxvi APPENDICES, 

3. NG, which never takes the compound ng-g value it has in 
Eng. '- anger,' but is sounded simply, as in Norw. and Ger. ; e.g., 
hung-er^ lang-er. 

4. CH, GH. Always strongly aspirated as gutturals ; e.g., 
laigh,, nicht^ brought (pronounced brocht), rough (pronounced 
roch). 

Terminations : 

1 . ED is always pronounced // or <?/, and is often so spelled. 

2. ING always reverts in pronunciation to its ancient form -^;^</, 
of which the d is silent as in Norw. mand. 

3. URE is pronounced as if it were -ur ; ^.g.^ picture. 

II. GRAMMAR. 

The grammar of Lowland Scotch presents many peculiarities 
and anomalies. It is not always amenable to rule, and has the 
freedom and looseness of a speech not yet fixed by literary usage. 
The following notes merely treat of such variations from English 
usage occurring in Burns as might puzzle the English student.^ 

Nouns : 

1. Subject. (a) Frequently the subject is mentioned in an ab- 
solute construction and then repeated in the form of a pronoun : as 

The lightly-jumpin glowrin trotits . . . 
They 're left, etc. {B. W., 9). 

2. Object. (a) It is common to anticipate the object of a 
statement by placing it first in absolute construction, and then 
repeating it as a pronoun : as 

The coward slave, we pass him by. (A Man V a Man, 3.) 

hpint an' gill, I 'd gie them baith. {Ep. J. Z., 41.) 

An' her ainyf/, it brunt //. {H., 78.) 

My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. (/*. M., 28.) 

1 For an account of historical Scotch grammar, see Dr. J. A. H. Murray's 
Dialect of the Southern Counties of Scotland, pp. 150-230. 



APPENDICES. Ixxxvii 

T\i^ gentles^ ye wad ne'er envy Vw. {T. D.^ 190.) 

For my lasty^^?^, 

A heapit stimpart, I '11 reserve ane, (M. Af., 100.) 

(d) The same often happens when the noun would be the 
object of a preposition ; i.e., the preposition and pronoun follow : as 
Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkled/^/r, 
We '11 get some famous laughin 

A^ them this day. (//. P\^ 43.) 

(c) Frequently a noun is loosely thrown in as an absolute 
objective where we should expect a preposition or governing verb, 
but there is none : as 

But Mauchline race or Mauchline Fair, 

I should be proud to meet you there. {Ep.J. Z., 97.) 

We are na fou, we 're no that fou 

But just a drappie in our ee. {Willie Brewed^ 6.) 

Till first ae caper^ syne anither, 

Tam tint his reason a' thegither. {T. Sh., 187.) 

My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O. {My Nanie^ O, 9.) 

Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer 

And they maun starve o' cauld and hunger. {T. Z?., 81.) 

I . . . would here propone defences — 

Their donsie tricks^ their black mistakes. {U. G.^ 15.) 

3. Possessive. (a) The sign ^s is sometimes omitted : as 

Wi' arm reposed on the chair back. (N. E., 95.) 

(d) Sometimes, instead of the possessive form, the noun is put 
down absolutely, and a possessive pronoun follows : as 

The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race . . . 
Their tuneless hearts. (Ep. M. Z., 38.) 

4. The irregularity is sometimes greater than in any of the 
above cases. A noun or pronoun occurs out of all construction ; 
i.e., it is merely thrown in and the construction changed according 
to sense : as 



Ixxxviii APPENDICES. 

Its stature seemed lang Scotch ells twa, 

The queerest shape that e'er I saw. (^D. D. H., 38.) 

Even j^/^ on murderin errands toiled . . . 

The blood-stained roost and sheep-cot spoiled 

My heart forgets. {IV. N., 25.) 

Pronouns : 

1 . Personal. (a) Me, t/iee, and ////;/, are sometimes used as 
subjects. Scotch usage is greatly affected by French here ; cf. 
the French use of moi\ toi., lui : as 

Scotland an' me V in great affliction. {E. C. P.^ 14.) 

But gin ye be a brig as auld as 7ne. (B. A., 69.) 

The smith an' //lee gat roarin fou on. (T. S/i., 26.) 

There, /ii'm at Agincourt wha shone 
Few better were or braver. (A E>r., 95.) 

/for me in Ep. D., 102, is merely a solecism. 

(d) Ye as object is very common : as 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent! 

While nobles strive to please j^. \A Dr., 73-81.) 

2. Relative. (a) Often omitted as subject. This ellipsis is 
found also in Middle English (the omission of the relative as object 
is regular, and in accord with English usage) : as 

To stop those reckless vows 

^ Would soon been broken. (K, 54.) 

An' gied the infant w^arld a shog 
^ Maist ruined a'. (D., 89). 

Or like the snow /^ falls in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever. (T. Sk., 61.) 

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

j^ Points to the parents. (C S. A\, d>y.) 

Forms ^ might be worshipped on the bended knee. {B. 

There 's men o' taste f^ wad tak the Ducat-stream. {B. A., 
79-) 



APPENDICES. Ixxxix 

(J)) That for ' to which' : as 

Fancies that our good Brugh denies protection. {B. A., 
124.) 

3. Possessive. His is often curtailed into V : as 

Whare drucken Charhe brak '^ neck-bane. (T. S/i., 92.) 
Labour sair Ai's weary toil. (S. £>., 34.) 

4. Reflexive. Oursel, theinsel^ for 'ourselves,' 'themselves': 

as 

That e'er he nearer comes oursel. {D. D. //., 11.) 

Till they be fit to fend thetnsel. {P. M., 32.) 

5. Reciprocal. Ither for ' each other ' : as 

We 've been owre lang unken'd to ither. {Ep. W. 6'., 98.) 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. {T. D., 221.) 

6. Demonstratives. The plural of this is thir ; of that., thae. 
Yon is frequently used for that^ those : as 

Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. {T. Sh.^ 155.) 

Quo' I, ' if that thae news be true ! ' {D. D. H., 134.) 

Yon runkled pair. {H. F., 43.) 

Adjectives : 

1. Almost any adjective may be used as an adverb : as 

Can easy wi' a single wordie 

Lowse hell upon me. {Ep. McM.^ 17.) 

My awkward muse sair pleads an begs. (^Ep. L. [11], 1 1.) 

To right or left eternal swervin. {Ep. J. S., 1 1 1.) 

When heavy -dxz-gg^di wi' pine an' grievin. {S. D.^ 27.) 

2. Comparison. After comparatives, nor is often used for 
than : as 

Waur nor their nonsense. (Ep. McM.^ 24.) 

Verbs : 

I . Didicative Present, The Anglian s forms prevail : as 
An anxious ee I never throwi". {Ep,J. S,<^ 145.) 



XC APPENDICES. 

Thou cleari^ the held o' doitit Lear. {S. D., 31.) 
Unseen thou lurkj*. (Z^., 24.) 
Thou liftvir thy unassuming head. {M, D., 27.) 
Yarrow an' Tweed to mony a tune 

Owre Scotland rings. ^Ep. ]\\ 6^., 45.) 

2. Indicative Past. Xo inflection in second singular : as 

Thou sat as lang as thou //<^^ siller. {T. Sh.^ 24.) 

Thou never braing't an' fetch't an' fliskit. {M. M., 6y.) 

Thou never /aj?. {M, M., 81.) 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste. {M., 25.) 

3. Indicative Future. Besides the usual sJiall and will form 
this takes a peculiar form in 'se : as 

I 'se no insist. (Ep. /. Z., 88.) 

I 'se ne'er bid better. (Ep. M. Z., 48). 

We ^se hae fine remarkin. (ZT. Z'., 49.) 

The shall ox will iorm takes no inflection in the second singular : 

as 

Ah, Tarn! thou '// get thy fairin. (T. S/i., 201.) 

Thou '//break my heart, thou bonie bird. (Bonze Doon, 5.) 

4. Compound tenses with ' have.'' Could, would, and should 
have very frequently omit the have (a common Norwegian usage) : 
as 

Kyle-Stewart I could ^ bragged wide. (JZ AT., 33.) 

He should /\ been tight that . . . (JZ M., 1 1.) 
Till spritty knowes w^ad ^ rair't an risket. {M. M.., 71.) 
Those reckless vows would soon ^^ been broken. (K, 54.) 
And would to Common Sense for once j^^ betrayed them. 

(B.A., 167.) 
Ye wad na y^ been sae shy. (O Tibbie, 2.) 

The wind blew as 't wad j^ blawn its last. (Z. Sh., 73.) 
Ye 'd better yv^ taen up spades and shools. {Ep.J.L. [I], 65.) 

The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad j^ stow'd his pantry. {Ep. W. S., 24.) 



APPENDICES. XCl 

5. hifinitive. The infinitive of ten takes ' for to,' as in Middle 
English : as 

Noty^r to hide it in a hedge. {Ep. Y. F.^ 53.) 
V>\}Xfor to meet the deil her lane. (//., 183.) 

6. Verbs 'be'' ajzd ''have.'' Following the analogy of other 
verbs (see Verbs ^ i), these adopt the northern s form and take 
is., was., has as a regular inflection for all persons, singular and 
plural (though in Burns and the modern dialects hae is very fre- 
quently used for Eng. have) : as 

I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some 

An V thankfu' for them yet. {Ep. D., 90.) 
Scotland an' me '^ in great affliction. {^E. C. P., 8.) 
Nor shouts o' war that 'j* heard afar. (Go Fetch, 15.) 
There ''s men o' taste wad tak . . . (B. A., 79.) 
There '^ mony waur been o' the race. (A Dr.., 25.) 
Now thou 'i- turned out for a' thy trouble. (J/., 33.) 
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank. (M. M., 13.) 
Thou 'j- met me in an evil hour. {M. D.., 2.) 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie. (M. M., 26.) 

Prepositions : 

{a) Instead of the construction with of., the appositional con- 
struction with nouns of quantity and kind is often used, as in 
Middle English : as 

His wee drap ^ parritch or his bread 

Thou kitchens fine. {S. D.., 41.) 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kin' ^^ chiel. {Ep. J, Z., 23.) 
Thy wee bit ^n^ housie, too, in ruin. (Af., 19.) 
Pickin her pouch as bare as winter 

O' a' kind j^ coin. {E. C. P., 42.) 

{b) Sometimes the preposition is thrown after its object. This 
is a poetic license, but Scotch permits greater freedom in this 
respect : as 

And what poor cot-folk pit their painch in. {T. D., 69.) 
But juist the pouchie put the neive in. (Ep. D. [II], 33.) 



xcii APPENDICES. 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast hi. {T. Sh.^ 70.) 

Every naig ^ was ca'd a shoe on. {T. Sh., 25.) 

{c) Sometimes it is used irregularly as an adverb : as 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's richt that day. {H. F., 134.) 

She pat but little faith in. {H., 184.) 

An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in. {S. D.^ 53.) 

Other Irregularities: 

Burns's language, being drawn largely direct from the speech 
of the common people, partakes of the structural freedom of such 
conversational speech. The uneducated peasantry often make an 
expressive drive at a thought without strict attention to gram- 
matical form. Burns avails himself of this liberty, and frequently 
employs condensed expressions that defy strict analysis. The 
same holds of modern Icelandic. Cf. Vigfusson and Powell's 
Icelandic Reader ; Graimnar^ chap. iv. Examples : 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've used him.^ {.^P- McM.^ 30.) 
He '11 still disdain, 
And then cry zeal for gospel laws. {Ep. McM.^ 53.) 

Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang. 

But aye unerring steady. {A Dr., 1 7.) 

Are doomed . . . 

The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brunstone reek. {B. A., 8.) 

Or like the snow . . . 

A moment white — then melts for ever. (T. Sk., 62.) 

The moral man he does define 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That 's richt that day. (H. F., 134. 

But for to meet the deil her lane 

She pat but little faith in. (//"., 184.) 



BIBLIOGRAPHY, 



A COMPLETE bibliography of Burns literature would be too 
extensive to find a place here. Only a few of the most service- 
able references are oriven. 



&' 



Works. — The older editions of Currie, Allan Cunningham, 
Hogg and Motherwell, and others are now superseded. 

1. Co7nplete Writings^ ed. by \V. Scott Douglas : 6 vols., 
Edinburgh, 1877-79. [Vols. I-III contain the poems and songs 
in chronological order with valuable notes ; vols. IV-VI, the 
letters. The able monograph of Professor Nichol (see No. 1 1 
below) is prefixed to vol. I.] 

2. Life and Works^ ed. by R. Chambers, revised by William 
Wallace : 4 vols., London and New York, 1896. [The writings 
are incorporated in the Life in their chronological order. Mr. 
Wallace has added much new material and corrected many old 
errors. This is the best combined Life and PVorks.^ 

3. Poems, Songs, and Letters, ed. by Alexander Smith : i vol., 
London and New York, 1893. [The " Globe " edition, a conven- 
ient working edition.] 

4. Poetical Works, ed. by Sir Harris Nicholas, revised by 
Geo. A. Aitken : 3 vols., London, 1893. [The third " Aldine " 
edition ; good introduction and notes.] 

5. Poetical Works, ed. by W. Scott Douglas : 3 vols., i2mo., 
Edinburgh, 1893. [Complete ; the chronological order is followed 
and valuable notes are added to each poem ; the binding is poor.] 

6. Poe7ns and Songs, ed. by A. Lang and W. A. Craigie : i vol., 
8vo., New York, 1896. [Complete ; chronological order ; good 
notes and introduction ; excellent typography ; bad paper.] 

7. Selections, ed. by J. Logic Robertson : i vol., 8vo., Oxford, 
1889. [The notes contain much appreciative criticism, but there 
are many errors.] 



XCIV BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

8. ^' The Centenary Burns." The Poetry of Robert Burns., 
ed. by W. E. Henley and T. F. Henderson : 4 vols., Edinburgh 
and Boston, 1896-97. [Complete ; chronological order ; valuable 
notes and discussions ; most complete bibliographical and textual 
material: printing, paper, etc., very fine.] 

(" The Cambridge Edition," Complete Poetical Works, i vol., 
Boston, 1897, is a reprint of the text of No. 8, with Mr. Henley's 
biographical and critical essay. This essay is also published sep- 
arately : Edinburgh, 1898.) 

Life. — The most trustworthy comment on Burns's life is con- 
tained in his poems and letters. Every biography should be 
checked by a study of these. 

The most complete and authoritative Life is that by Chambers 
and Wallace. See No. 2 above. 

9. By M. Aug. Angellier, Robert Burns, Sa Vie, Ses (Envres, 
2 vols., Paris, 1893. [Up to the appearance of No. 2, the 'most 
scholarly, most sympathetic and complete Life of Burns in any 
language ' ; has a good bibliography.] 

10. By J. Gibson Lockhart, revised and enlarged by W. Scott 
Douglas: i vol., 8vo., London, 1882. [Bohn's "Standard Li- 
brary " series ; long the best work on the subject ; it was Lock- 
hart's Z//'^( 1828) that produced Carlyle's well-known review. See 
No. 16 below.] 

11. By John Nichol : Edinburgh, 1882. [An excellent sum- 
mary ; see No. i above.] 

12. By J. C. Shairp : i vol., London, 1879. V English Men of 
Letters " series ; the author laments that Burns wrote his satires, 
and is otherwise " unco guid."] 

13. By J. S. Blackie : i vol., London, 1888. [" Great Writers " 
series ; worth little, but contains a good bibliography by J. P. 
Anderson, of the British Museum.] 

14. By Gabriel Setoun : i vol., Edinburgh and London, 1896. 
[" Famous Scots " series.] 

[While this book is passing through the press, the first complete 
edition of the correspondence of Burns and Mrs. Dunlop is an- 
nounced, edited by William Wallace: London, 1898.] 



BIBLIOGRAPHY. xcv 

Criticisms. — In addition to the criticisms embodied in many 
of the foregoing may be mentioned (in alphabetical order) : 

15. Brooke, Stopford: Theology in the English Poets (Lon- 
don, 1874), pp. 287-339. 

16. Carlyle, Thos. : Miscellaneous Essays^ '' Essay on Burns " ; 
see No. 10, above. 

17. Emerson, R. W. : Speech at the Burns Centenary, Boston, 
1859; Works (Boston and New York, 1889), Vol. XI, pp. 
303-8. 

18. Hazlitt, William : Lectures on the English Poets (London, 
181 9), pp. 245-282. 

19. Kingsley, Charles: " Burns and his School," Works (Lon- 
don, 1880), Vol. XX ; original printed in North British Review^ 
Vol. XVI. 

20. Lang, Andrew : Letters to Dead Authors (London, 1886), 
pp. 195-204. 

21. Service, John : Ward's English Poets (London, 1883), 
Vol. Ill, pp. 512-571. 

22. Shairp, J. C. : Poetic htterpretation ^/*A^<2///r^ (Edinburgh, 
1877), pp. 213-219 ; Aspects of Poetry (Oxford, 1881), pp. 192- 
226. 

23. Stevenson, R. L. : Familiar Studies of Men and Books 
(London, 1882), pp. 38-90 ; originally printed in Cornhill Mag- 
azine^ October, 1879. 

24. Taine, Henri: Histoire de la Litt. Anglaise^ translated by 
Van Laun (London, 1873-4), Vol. Ill, pp. 389-412. 

25. Wilson, John (" Christopher North ") : " Genius and Char- 
acter of Burns," Works (Edinburgh and London, n. d.). Vol. Ill, 
pp. I -2 II ; interesting as the criticism of an old-fashioned per- 
fervid Scot. 

Collateral Matter : 

26. Walker, Hugh : Three Centuries of Scottish Literature, 2 
vols., London and New York, 1893. 

27. Veitch, John : The Feeling for Nature in Scottish Poetry, 
Edinburgh, 1887. 



XCVl BIBLIOGRAPHY, 

28. Johnson, James : Scots Mzisical Museum, 5 vols., fol. 
Edinburgh, 1 787-1 803 ; reprinted, ed. by W. Stenhouse and D. 
Laing, 4 vols., Edinburgh, 1853. [A standard work.] 

29. Cromek, R. H. : Reliques of Robert Burns, i vol., Lon- 
don, 1808 ; Philadelphia, 1809. [Contains Burns's critical notes 
on Scottish Song.] 

30. Ritson, Jos. : Collection of Scottish Songs, with music, 2 
vols., London, 1794; facsimile reprint, Glasgow, 1869. [Good 
introduction on Scottish Songs and Music] 

31. Herd, David : Ancient and Afodern Scottish Songs, 2 
vols., Edinburgh, 1776 ; reprinted with additions, Glasgow, 1869 ; 
ed. by S. Gilpin, Edinburgh, 1869. [Scholarly.] 

32. Chambers, Robert : Songs of Scotla7id Prior to Burns, 
with the tunes, Edinburgh, 1862. [Good introduction.] 

33. Rogers, Dr. C. : The Scottish Minstrel, songs and song 
writers of Scotland subsequent to Burns, i vol., Edinburgh, 1870. 
[Popular.] 

34. The So?igs of Scotland, chronologically arranged, i vol., 
8vo., London, 1870 ; Glasgow, 1871. [Valuable introduction.] 

35. Hogg, James : The facobite Relics of Scotland, 2 vols., 
Edinburgh, 18 19-21. [Good enough for lack of a better.] 

36. Murray, J. Clarke : TJie Ballads and Songs of Scotland, 
in view of their influence on the character of the people, i vol., 
Toronto and London, 1874. 

37. Robertson, J. Logic ("Hugh Haliburton ") : /;/ Scottish 
Fields, I vol., Edinburgh, 1890. 

38. Hawthorne, Nath. : Our Old Home (Haunts of Burns). 

39. Hadden, J. Cuthbert : George Tho?nson, The Friend of 
Burns : His Life and Correspondence : London, i 



The student may find interest and edification in the poetical 
tributes paid to Burns by Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, Campbell, 
Longfellow, and others. 



SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 



SONG, — O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Chorus. — O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 
Ye wad na been sae shy; 
For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
But, trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 5 

Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; 
Ye geek at me because I 'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, lo 

That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean, 15 

That looks sae proud and high. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt. 
Ye '11 cast your head anither airt. 

An' answer him fu' dry. 20 



SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye '11 fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kye. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 25 

Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price. 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass beside yon park, 
I 'd rather hae her in her sark, 30 

Than you wi' a' your thousand mark. 
That gars you look sae high. 



SONG, — MARY MORISON. 

Mary, at thy window be. 

It is the wished, the trysted hour I 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 5 

A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 10 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 15 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 



A PRAYER. 3 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 20 

If love for love thou wilt na gie 

At least be pity to me shown : 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



A PRAYER 



IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

Oh thou unknown Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 5 

Of life I ought to shun — 
As something, loudly, in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done — 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me, 

With passions wild and strong ; 10 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside. 
Do Thou, All-good ! — for such Thou art — 15 

In shades of darkness hide. 



SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have 
But — Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 20 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, 

THE author's only PET YOWE : 
All Jdico inoiirnfic* Tale. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither 

Was ae day nibblin on the tether, 

Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 

An owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 

There, groanin, dyin, she did lie, S 

When Hughoc he cam doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een and lifted ban's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 
But, wae's my heart ! he could na mend it. 10 

He gaped wide but naething spak — 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 15 

An' bear them to my Master dear. 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep — 
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 20 



THE DEATH OF POOR MAILIE. 5 

But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will : 
So may his flock increase and grow 
To- scores o' lambs and packs o' woo' ! 

" Tell him, he was a Master kin*, 25 

An' aye was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him — 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 

'' Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 30 

But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' taets o' hay, an' ripps o' corn. 

'' An' may they never learn the gaets 35 

Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets, 
To slink through slaps, an' reave an' steal 
At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears. 
For monie a year come thro' the shears : 40 

So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet for them when they 're dead. 

** My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, 
Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ; 
An' if he live to be a beast, 45 

To pit some havins in his breast ! 

" An' warn him, what I winna name. 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots. 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 5° 



SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

** And niest my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop, 

But ay keep mind to moop and mell 55 

Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith ; 
And when you think upo' your mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 60 

*' Now, honest Hughoc^ dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether. 
An' for thy pains thou 'se get my blether.'' 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 65 

An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears tricklin doun your nose ; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane o' his woe 's — 

Poor Mailie 's dead ! 

It 's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak oiir Bardie, dowie, wear 



POOR MA /LIE'S ELEGY. 7 

The mournin weed : lo 

He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 
In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 

A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 

Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 15 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him. 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 

An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 20 

I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin Mailie 's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 25 

Her livin image in her yowe 

Comes bleatin till him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 30 

She was nae get o' moorlan' tips, 

Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 35 

Than Mailie 's dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It makes guid fellows girn an' gape, 



SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Wi' chokin dread ; 4o 

An^ Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 
For Mailie dead. 

O a' ye Bards on bonie Doon ! 

An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 

Come, join the melancholious croon 45 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon — 

His Mailie 's dead ! 



SONG, — MY NANIE, O. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 

'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 
The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 

An' I '11 awa to Nanie, O. 

The westlin w^ind blaws loud an' shill : 5 

The night 's baith mirk an' rainy, O ; 

But I '11 get my plaid an' out I '11 steal. 
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. 

My Nanie 's charming, sweet, an' young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : lo 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true. 

As spotless as she 's bonie, O : 
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, ^5 

Nae purer is than Nanie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 9 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 
But what care I how few they be ? 

I 'm welcome aye to Nanie, O. 20 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 

An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 

My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 25 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 
But I 'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 

And has nae care but Nanie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 

I '11 tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 30 

Nae ither care in life hae I, 

But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 



SONG, — GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

Chorus. — Green grow the rashes, O ! 
Green grow the rashes, O ! 

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 
Are spent amang the lasses, O. 

There 's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
In every hour that passes, O : 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An 'twere na for the lasses, O? 



10 SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 

The war'ly race may riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O ; lo 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, 15 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this ; 

Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O : 
The wisest man the war!' e'er saw, 

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 20 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 

Her noblest work she classes, O : 
Her prentice han' she try'd on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, O. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
An' bar the doors wi' drivin snaw, 

An' hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time. 
An' spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift, 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 11 

That live sae bien an' snug : lo 

I tent less, an' want less 
Their roomy fireside ; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r 15 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

An' ken na how to ware 't ; 20 

But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear. 
We 're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang 's we 're hale and fier. 

" Mair spier na, nor fear na," 25 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg ; 
The last o't, the w^arst o't. 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns an' barns at e'en. 

When banes are craz'd, an' bluid is thin, 3° 

Is doubtless great distress ! 
Yet then content could mak us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we 'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that 's free frae a' 35 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However Fortune kick the ba'. 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
An' mind still, you '11 find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 40 

Nae mair then, we '11 care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 



12 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 45 

Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 5° 

With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We '11 sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till 't, we '11 time till 't, 55 

And sing 't when we hae done. 

It 's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It 's no in making muckle, mair : 6o 

It's no in books, it's no in lear, 

To mak us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 65 

But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures nor pleasures 

Could mak us happy lang ; 
The heart ay 's the part ay 

That maks us right or wrang. 70 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never ceasing toil, — 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 13 

Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 75 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that 's guid, 

They riot in excess ! 80 

Baith careless, and fearless, 

Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 85 

Nor mak' our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, — 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some. 

An 's thankfu' for them yet — 9° 

They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken ourseF ; 
They mak us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill : 

Though losses an' crosses 95 

Be lessons right severe. 
There 's wit there, ye '11 get there, 
Ye '11 find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 100 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I, — 
An' joys that riches ne'er could buy, — 

An' joys the very best. 
There 's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 105 

The lover and the frien' : 



14 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 

It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name: no 

It heats me, it beets me. 
An' sets me a' on flame ! 

O all ye Pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 115 

The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 120 

Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

Oh hear my fervent pray'r ! 
Still take her, and make her 125 

Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 130 

Had number'd out my weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In ev'ry care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 135 

A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene, 



RANTIN ROVIN ROBIN. 15 

To meet with, an' greet with 

My Davie or my Jean. 140' 

Oh, how that Name inspires my style I 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 145 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp. 

Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. 

An' rin an unco fit : 150 

But least then the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I '11 light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizen'd hide. 



SONG, — RANTIN ROVIN ROBIN. 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But whatna day o' whatna style, 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Chorus. — Robin was a rovin boy, 5 

Rantin, rovin, rantin, rovin ; 
Robin was a rovin boy, 
Rantin, rovin Robin. 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five-and-twenty days begun, ^o 

'T was then a blast o' Janwar' win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 



16 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' scho, " Wha Uves will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof ; 15 

I think we '11 ca' him Robin. 

*' He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
He '11 be a credit till us a' — 

We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 20 

" But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin'. 
So leeze me on thee, Robin." 



9 ' 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince ! O Chief of many throned pow'rs ! 

That led th' embattled seraphim to war. — Milton. 

THOU ! whatever title suit thee, — 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie ! 
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie 5 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a w^ee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 

1 'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a deil, 10 

To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 17 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 

Far ken'd an' noted is thy name ; 

An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 15 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou 's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion, 

For prey a' holes an' corners tryin ; 20 

Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirlin' the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I 've heard my rev'rend grannie say, 25 

In lanely glens ye like to stray; 
Or whare auld ruin'd castles gray 

Nod to the moon. 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon. 30 

When twilight did my grannie summon 
To say her pray'rs, douce honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she 's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, 35 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 

Wi' you mysel I gat a fright 

Ayont the lough ; 40 

Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight 

Wi' waving sough. 



IS SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 

Each bristrd hair stood like a stake, 

When wi' an eldritch, stoor " Quaick, quaick," 45 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake. 

On whistlin wings. 

Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags 

Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags 5° 

They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howket dead. 

Thence, countra wives wi' toil an' pain 55 

May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For oh ! the yellow treasure 's taen 

By witchin skill ; 
An' dawtet, twal-pint hawkie 's gaen 

As yell 's the bill. 6o 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse. 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house. 

By cantrip wit. 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 65 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord. 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord 

By your direction, 70 

An' nighted travelers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 19 

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies 

Decoy the wight that late and drunk is : 

The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys 75 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is. 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When masons' mystic word and grip 

In storms an' tempests raise you up, 80 

Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 

Or, strange to tell. 
The youngest brither ye wad whip , 

Aff straught to hell ! 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 8$ 

When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
And all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour. 
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird. 

In shady bow'r ; 9° 

Then you, ye auld sneck-drawin dog ! 

Ye cam to Paradise incog. 

And play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
And gied the infant warld a shog, 95 

Maist ruin'd a'. 

D 'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reeket duds and reestet gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

Mang better folk, 100 

An' sklented on the man of Uz 

Your spitefu' joke? 



20 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 

An' brak him out o' house and haP, 

While scabs and blotches did him gall, 105 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scaul, 

Was warst ava? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 

Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, no 

Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 

Down to this time. 
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye 're thinkin, 115 

A certain Bardie 's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit ; 
But faith ! he '11 turn a corner jinkin. 

An' cheat you yet. 120 

But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 

wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake : 

1 'm wae to think upo' yon den, 125 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK, 21 

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never pen'd: 
Ev'n ministers, they hae been ken'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousin whid at times to vend 5 

An' nail 't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befell. 
Is just as true 's the deil 's in hell 

Or Dublin city : lo 

That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The clachan yill had made me canty — 

I was na' fou, but just had plenty; 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye 15 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes ken'd aye 

Frae ghaists and witches. 

The rising moon began to glow'r 

The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; 20 

To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I could na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 25 

An' todlin doun on Willie's mill, 



22 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Settin my staff wi' a' my skill 

To keep me sicker, 
Tho' leeward whiles against my will 

I took a bicker. 3° 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 

That pat me in an eerie swither : 

An awfu' scythe out-owre ae shouther 

Clear-dangling hang ; 
A three-taed leister on the ither 35 

Lay large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw. 
For fient a wame it had ava; 

And then its shanks, 40 

They were as thin, as sharp and sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 

* Guid-een,' quo' I ; ^ Friend ! hae ye been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin? ' 

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 45 

But naething spak : 
At length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gaun ? 

Will ye go back ? ' 

It spak right howe, — * My name is Deaths 

But be na fley'd.' — Quoth I, ' Guid faith, 50 

Ye 're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me, billie : 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

See, there 's a gully !' 

* Gudeman,' quo' he, ' put up your whittle, 55 
I 'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 23 

But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd ; 
I wad na mind it — no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard.' 60 

* Weel, weel ! ' says I, ^ a bargain be 't ; 
Come, gie 's your hand, an' sae we 're gree 't ; 
We '11 ease our shanks an' tak a seat. 

Come, gie 's your news : 
This while ye hae been mony a gait, 65 

At mony a house.' 

* Ay, ay ! ' quo' he, an' shook his head, 

* It 's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread 

An' choke the breath : 70 

Folk maun do something for their bread, 
An' sae maun Death. 

* Sax thousand years are near-hand fled 
Sin' I was to the butchin bred, 

An' mony a scheme in vain 's been laid 75 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook 's ta'en up the trade. 

An' faith 1 he '11 waur me. 

* Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan — 

Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! — 80 

He 's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan 

An' ither chaps. 
The weans hand out their fingers laughin 

And pouk my hips. 

* See, here 's a scythe, and there 's a dart — 85 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 



24 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

But Doctor Hornbook wi' his art 

And cursed skill 
Has made them baith no worth a [scart], 

Damn'd haet they'll kill. 90 

^ 'T was but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I 'm sure, I 've hundreds slain ; 

But deil-ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane, 95 

But did nae main 

^Hornbook was by wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortify'd the part. 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 100 

Fient haet o 't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

O' a kail-runt. 

* I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry. 

But yet the bauld Apothecary 105 

Withstood the shock : 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 



* An' then a' doctor's saws an' whittles, 115 

Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' metals, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles 

He 's sure to hae : 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 120 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 25 

* Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
True sal-marinum o' the seas ; 

The farina of beans and peas, 

He has 't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, — what you please, 125 

He can content ye. 

* Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, — 
Urinus spiritus of capons ; 

Or mite-horn shavins, filins, scrapins, 

Distill'd/^r se ; 130 

Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippins. 

An' mony mae.' 

' Wae 's me iox Johnie Ged^s Hole now,' 

Quo' I, ^ if that thae news be true ! 

His braw calf-ward, whare gowans grew 135 

Sae white and bonie, 
Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the plew ; 

They '11 ruin Johnie ! ' 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh. 

An' says, ^ Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 140 

Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They '11 a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 

In twa-three year. 

* Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death 145 
By loss o' blood or want of breath, 

This night I 'm free to tak my aith. 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap and pill 15^ 



26 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

* An honest wabster to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair; 
The wife slade cannie to her bed, i55 

But ne'er spak mair. 

* A countra Laird had taen the batts, 
Or some curmurring in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets 

An' pays him well : i6o 

The lad for twa guid gimmer-pets 
Was laird himsel. 

*A bonie lass, ye ken'd her name, 

Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame : 

She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 165 

In Hornbook^ s care ; 
IIor?i sent her aff to her lang hame. 

To hide it there. 

* That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; 

Thus goes he on from day to day, 170 

Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An 's weel pay'd for 't ; 

Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his damn'd dirt. 

' But, hark ! I '11 tell you of a plot, 175 

Tho' dinna ye be speakin o 't ; 
I '11 nail the self-conceited sot 

As dead 's a herrin. 
Niest time we meet, I '11 wad a groat, 

He gets his fairin! ' 180 



TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 27 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 185 

And sae did Death, 



TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

While briers and woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin seen 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' S 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin : 

And there was muckle fun and jokin, 

Ye need na doubt; 10 

At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang-about. 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 

Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best. 

That some kind husband had addrest 15 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast 

A' to the life. 



28 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

I 've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, 

What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; . 20 

Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They tauld me 't was an odd kin' chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

I pat me fidgin-fain to hear 't, 25 

And sae about him there I spier 't ; 
Then a' that ken'd him round declared 

He had mgine ; 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near 't, 

It was sae fine ; 3° 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he 'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches — 
'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale 35 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 

Or die a cadger pownie's death 

• At some dyke-back, 40 

A pint an' gill I 'd gie them baith 
To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 

Amaist as soon as I could spell, 

I to the crambo-jingo fell, 45 

Tho' rude an' rough. 
Yet crooning to a body's sel 

Does weel eneugh. 



TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 29 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer like by chance, 5° 

An' hae to learning nae pretence ; 

Yet what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 55 

And say, * How can you e'er propose. 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 

To mak a sang ? ' 
But, by your leave, my learned foes. 

Ye 're maybe wrang. 6o 

What 's a' your jargon o' your schools. 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ? 
If honest nature made you fools. 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye 'd better taen up spades and shools, 65 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 70 

An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That 's a' the learnin I desire ; 

Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire 75 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

Mav touch the heart. 



30 SELECTIONS FROM BURNSl. 

for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld an' slee, 80 

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me, 

If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 85 

Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I 'se no insist ; 
But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 

I 'm on your list. 9° 

1 winna blaw about mysel, 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends, an' folk that wish me well, 
They sometimes roose me ; 

Tho' I maun own, as mony still 95 

As far abuse me. 

There 's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair ; 100 

Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race or Mauchline Fair, 

I should be proud to meet you there : 

We 'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 105 

If we forgather. 
And hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 



TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 31 

The four-gill chap we 'se gar him clatter, 

And kirsen him wi' reekin water ; no 

Syne we '11 sit down and tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
And faith ! we 'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa, ye selfish warly race, 115 

Wha think that havins, sense and grace, 
Ev'n love and friendship should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face 

Nor hear your crack. 120 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 125 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen 's worn to the gristle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle. 

Who am, most fervent, 130 

While I can either sing or whistle. 

Your friend and servant. 



32 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

TO WILLIAM SIMSON, 

OCHILTREE. 

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
Tho' I maun say 't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 5 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I 'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be lathe to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; lo 

Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye 've pen'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel. 

Should I but dare a hope to speel 

Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield 15 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 20 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 25 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed. 
As whiles they 're like to be my dead, 
(Oh sad disease !) 



TO WILLIAM SIMSON. 33 

I kittle up my rustic reed : 

It gies me ease. " 3^ 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 
She 's gotten poets o' her ain — 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 35 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while 
To set her name in measur'd style : 
She lay like some unken'd-of isle 

Beside New Holland, 40 

Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay and famous Fergusson 

Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon ; 

Yarrow and Tweed to mony a tune 45 

Owre Scotland rings; 
While Irvin, Lugar, Ayr an' Doon 

Naebody sings. 

Th' IHssus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine 

Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' line ; 5^ 

But, Willie, set your fit to mine 

And cock your crest. 
We '11 gar our streams and burnies shine 

Up wi' the best ! 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, 55 

Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens and dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies. 6o 



34 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward red-wat-shod, 65 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares in amorous whids 

Their loves enjoy, 70 

While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

Wi' wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me. 

When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 

Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 75 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms 

To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 80 

Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life an' light. 
Or winter howls in gusty storms 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 85 

Till by himsel he learn'd to wander 
Adoun some trottin burn's meander, 

And no think lang ; 
O sweet to stray and pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 90 

The warly race may drudge and drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive : 



THE HOLY FAIR. 35 

Let me fair nature's face descrive, 

And I wi' pleasure 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 95 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, my '' rhyme-composing brither " ! 
We Ve been owre lang unken'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither 

In love fraternal ! loo 

May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls and taxes, 

While moorlan herds like guid fat braxies, 

While Terra Firma on her axis 105 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend in faith an' practice 

In Robert Burns. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation ; 
A mask that Uke the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion, 

Hypocrisy a-la-mode. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 

I walked forth to view the corn 
An' snuff the caller air. 



36 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

The risin' sun owre Galston muirs 5 

Wi' glorious light was glintin, 
The hares were hirplin down the furrs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad lo 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart linin ; 15 

The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shinin 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 20 

Their visage withered, lang an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie. 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 25 

i\s soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I 'm sure I 've seen that bonie face, 3° 

But yet I canna name ye.' 
Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak. 

An' taks me by the han's, 
^ Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck 

Of a' the ten comman's 35 

A screed some day. 



THE HOLY FAIR, 37 

* My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that 's Hypocrisy. 40 

I 'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffin : 
Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkl'd pair, 

We will get famous laughin 

At them this day.' 45 

Quoth I, 'With a' my heart, I'll do't : 

I '11 get my Sunday's sark on. 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we 'se hae fine remarkin ! ' 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 50 

An' soon I made me ready; 
For roads were clad frae side to side 

Wi' mony a wearie body 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash in ridin graith 55 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters. 
There swankies young in braw braid-claith 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang. 

In silks an' scarlets glitter, 60 

Wi' sweet-milk cheese in mony a whang. 

An' farls bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 65 

A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 



38 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Then in we go to see the show : 

On ev'ry side they 're gath'rin, 
Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools, 70 

An' some are busy bleth'rin 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs 

An' screen our countra gentry ; 
There Racer Jess an' twa-three whores 75 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jads, 

Wi' heavin breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster lads, 

Blackguardin frae Kilmarnock 80 

For fun this day. 

Here some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs and prays : 85 

On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces ; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 90 

O happy is that man and blest ! 

(Nae wonder that it pride him !) 
Whase ain dear lass that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin doun beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 95 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which by degrees slips round her neck. 

An 's loof upon her bosom, 

Unken'd that day. 



THE HOL V FAIR, 39 

Now a' the congregation o'er loo 

Is silent expectation ; 
For Moodie speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 105 

The vera sight o' Moodie's face 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' wi' thumpin ! no 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squeal and gestures. 
Oh, how they fire the heart devout, 115 

Like cantharidian plaisters. 

On sic a day ! 

But hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice : 

There's peace and rest nae langer ; 
For a' the real judges rise, 120 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 125 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style an' gesture fine 

Are a' clean out o' season. 130 



40 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

Like Socrates or Antonine 

Or some aulcl pagan heathen, 
The moral 7naJi he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That 's richt that day. 135 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles, frae the water-ht. 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God 140 

An' meek an mini has view'd it. 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road, 

An's aff, an' up the Cowgate 

Fast, fast that day. 

Wee Miller niest the Guard relieves, 145 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So cannilie he hums them ; 15° 

Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him 

At times that day. 

Now butt an' ben the change-house fills 

Wi' yill-caup commentators : i55 

Here's cryin out for bakes an' gills. 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end 160 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 41 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either school or collefre : 
It ken'les wit, it waukens lair, 165 

It pangs us fou o' knowledge. 
Be't whisky-gill or penny- wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion. 
It never fails, on drinkin deep, 

To kittle up our notion 170 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body. 
Sit round the table weel content. 

An' steer about the toddy. 175 

On this ane's dress an' that ane's leuk 

They're makin observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 180 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts. 

Till a' the hills are rairin. 
An' echoes back return the shouts — 

Black Russell is na sparin. 
His piercing words, like highlan' swords, 185 

Divide the joints an' marrow; 
His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell. 

Our vera 'sauls does harrow ' 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 190 

Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, 
Whase ragin flame, an' scorchin heat 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 



42 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

The half-asleep start up wi' fear 

An' think they hear it roarin, i95 

When presently it does appear 

'Twas but some neibor snorin, 

Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How mony stories past, 200 

An' how they crouded to the yill. 

When they were a' dismist: 
How drink gaed round in cogs and caups 

Amang the furms an' benches : 
An' cheese and bread frae women's laps 205 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dauds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; 210 

The lasses they are shyer : 
The auld guidmen about the grace 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Tilt some ane by his bonnet lays, 

And gi'es them't like a tether 215 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 220 

O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel 

How bonie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day! 225 



TO THE REV. JOHN AH MATH. 43 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 230 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 235 

O' sinners and o' lasses! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine, 

There's some are fou o' brandy; 240 

An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin show'r. 
Or in gulravage rinnin scowr 

To pass the time. 
To you I dedicate the hour 5 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it. 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 10 



44 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, 

That I, a simple countra bardie, 

Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 15 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy wi' a single wordie 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces. 

Their sighin, cantin, grace-proud faces, 20 

Their three-mile prayers and hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxin conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gau'n, misca't waur than a beast, 25 

Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than monie scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus'd him ; 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they 've used him ? 30 

See him, the poor man's friend in need. 
The gentleman in word an' deed — 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums. 
An' no a Muse erect her head 35 

To cowe the blellums? 

Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 

1 'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

And tell aloud 40 

Their jugglin hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 45 

God knows, 1 'm no the thing I should be, 

Nor am I even the thing I could be, 

But twenty times I rather would be 45 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colours hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 

An honest man may like a lass, 50 

But mean revenge and malice fause 

He '11 still disdain, 
And then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They tak religion in their mouth ; 55 

They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth — 
For what ? to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wight. 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth. 

To ruin straight. 60 

All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 65 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotcht an' foul wi' monie a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train. 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those 7° 

Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes, 



46 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 

In spite of undermining jobs, 

In spite o' dark banditti stabs 75 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground ! 

Within thy presbyterial bound 80 

A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 

An' manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd, 85 

Sir, in that circle you are fam'd; 

An' some, by whom your doctrine" 's blam'd 

(Which gies ye honour), 
Even, sir, by them your heart 's esteem'd 

An' winning manner. 90 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
An' if impertinent I 've been. 
Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befrien' 95 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea. 

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 
But nature sicken'd on the ee. 



TO A MOUSE. 47 

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 5 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 

And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair; lo 

Ye birdies, dumb in with'rin bowers. 

Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile, 
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr, 15 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle ! 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, 
NOVEMBER, 1785. 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie. 
Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty 

Wi' bickerin brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 5 

Wi' murd'rin pattle ! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle lo 

At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 



48 SELECTIOiXS FROM BURNS. 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve : 

What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 

A daimen icker in a thrave 15 

'S a sma' request ; 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 

An' never miss 't! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 

Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ! 20 

An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin 

Baith snell an' keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 25 

An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here beneath the blast 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 30 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 35 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 40 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 

For promis'd joy. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 49 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! 

The present only toucheth thee : 

But, och! I backward cast my ee 45 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,' 

The short and simple annals of the poor. — Gray. 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 

My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praise. 

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 5 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh, 10 

The short'ning winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh. 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose ; 

The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, — 
This night his weekly moil is at an end, — 15 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 



50 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 20 

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through 

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee. 

His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie, 
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 

The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 25 

Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in. 
At service out amang the farmers roun'; 

Some ca the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 30 

A cannie errand to a neibor toun : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her ee, 

Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 35 

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: 

The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. 40 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view ; 

The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wd' admonition due. 45 

Their master's an' their mistress's command 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play: 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 51 

"An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 50 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 
Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright ! " 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door. 55 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 

The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her cheek ; 60 

Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben, 

A strappin youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 65 

Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 
But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 

The mother wi' a woman's wiles can spy 70 

What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave, 
Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn 's respected like the lave. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 75 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 

"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 80 

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale." 



52 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 

That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 85 

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child, 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? 90 

But now the supper crowns their simple board. 

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food ; 
The sowpe their only hawkie does afford, 

That yont the hallan snugly chows her cud. 

The dame brings forth, in compUmental mood, 95 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck fell, 

An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 100 

They round the ingle form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er with patriarchal grace 

The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride ; 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; 105 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 
He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And, "Let us worship God," he says with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: no 

Perhaps Z>/^;/<^^^'j". wild-warbling measures rise, 
Or plaintive Martyrs^ worthy of the name. 
Or noble Elgm beets the heaven-ward flame, 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT, 53 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays. 

Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; "5 

The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, — 

How Abram was the friend of God on high; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 120 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging ire ; 

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 125 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, — 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; 

How He, who bore in heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head: 130 

How His first followers and servants sped; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand. 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heav'n's 

command. ^35 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's eternal King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays: 

Hope '* springs exulting on triumphant wing," 
That thus they all shall meet in future days: 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, Mo 

No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear. 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 



54 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride US 

In all the pomp of method and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart ! 

The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 150 

But haply in some cottage far apart 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul, 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest; ^55 

The parent-pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 

That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest 
And decks the lily fair in fiow'ry pride. 

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 160 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: 

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 165 

**An honest man 's the noblest work of God ": 
And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind: 

What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load. 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, i?^ 

Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! 

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! ^7S 



HALLOWEEN. 55 

And, oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! 

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle. i8o 

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart. 

Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part, — 
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, 185 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert. 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! 



HALLOWEEN. 

Upon that night, when fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans dance. 
Or owre the lays in splendid blaze 

On sprightly coursers prance. 
Or for Colean the rout is taen 5 

Beneath the moon's pale beams. 
There up the Cove to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night, — 

Amang the bonie, winding banks, 10 

Where Doon rins wimplin clear. 
Where Bruce ance rul'd the martial ranks 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 



56 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Some merry, friendly countra folks 

Together did convene, 15 

To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks. 

An' haud their Halloween 

Fu' biythe that night. 

The lasses feat an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 20 

Their faces biythe fu' sweetly kythe 

Hearts leal an' warm an' kin : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 25 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whyles fast at night. 

Then first an' foremost, thro' the kail 

Their stocks maun a' be sought ance : 
They steek their een, an' grape an' wale 30 

For muckle anes an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift. 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail 35 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nana, 

They roar and cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee-things toddlin rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther : 40 

An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've placed them 

To lie that night. 45 



HALLOWEEN. 57 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn ; 
But Rab slips out, and jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn: 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast, S^^ 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost 

When kiutlen i' the fause-house 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordit nits 55 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle couthie side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 60 

Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie ee ; 

Wha 't was, she wadna tell ; 65 

But this is Jock^ and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part; 
Till fuff! he started up the lum, 70 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 
To see 't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt. 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, 
An' Mary nae doubt took the drunt, 75 

To be compar'd to Willie : 



58 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Mali's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit, it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 80 

To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min'; 

She pits hersel and Rab in : 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 

Till white in ase they're sabbin. 85 

Nell's heart w^as dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rab to leuk for 't : 
Rab stownlins prie'd her bonie mou 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for 't. 

Unseen that night. 9° 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel: 
She through the yard the nearest taks 95 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins graipet for the banks. 

An' in the blue-clue throws then. 
Right fear't that night. 

And aye she win't and aye she swat, 100 

I wat she made nae jaukin: 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quaukin' ! 
But whether 't was the deil himsel. 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 105 

Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She didna wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 



HALLOWEEN, 59 

Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 

^' Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? no 

I '11 eat the apple at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnnie " : 
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 

In wrath she w^as sae vap'rin. 
She noticed na an aizle brunt 115 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 

*' Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 
I daur you try sic sportin. 
As seek the foul Thief ony place, 120 

For him to spae your fortune : 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it; 
For monie a ane has got a fright, 

An' liv'd an' died deleeret, 125 

On sic a night. 

*' Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 
I min 't as w^eel 's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey then, I 'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen: 13° 

The simmer had been cauld an' wat 

An' stuff was unco' green ; 
An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 
An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. i35 

^^Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 
A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
His son gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 
That liv'd in Achmacalla; 



60 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, 140 

An' he made unco light o 't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 145 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 150 

Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try 't that night. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin; i55 

The graip he for a harrow taks. 

And haurls at his curpin ; 
And ev'ry now and then he says, 

'' Hempseed, I saw thee, 
And her that is to be my lass, 160 

Come after me, and draw thee 
As fast this night." 

He whistled up Lord Lennox' march 

To keep his courage cheery; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 165 

He was sae fley'd and eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

And then a grane and gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

And tumbl'd wi' a wintle 170 

Out-owre that night. 



HALLOWEEN. 61 

He roar'd a horrid murder shout 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
And young and auld cam' rinnin out 

To hear the sad narration: i75 

He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie ; 
Till, stop ! she trotted thro' them a', 

And wha was it but grumphie 

Asteer that night? i8o 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething ; 
But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits 185 

And twa red-cheekit apples 
To watch, while for the barn she sets 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw 190 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ratton rattl'd up the wa'. 

An' she cry'd, Lord preserve her ! i95 

An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a'. 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour 
Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 200 

It chanced the stack he faddom't thrice 

Was timmer-propt for thrawin : 



62 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak 
For some black, grousome carlin ; 

An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 205 

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin 

All 's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie as a kittlin : 
But och ! that night amang the shaws 210 

She gat a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins an' by the cairn 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn, 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 215 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays. 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 220 

Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes 

Below the spreading hazel 

Unseen that night. 225 

Amang the brachens on the brae. 

Between her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 230 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpet, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpet 

Wi' a plunge that night. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 63 

In order on the clean hearth-stane 235 

The luggies three are ranged ; 
And ev'ry time great care is taen, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year did desire, 240 

Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 245 

And unco tales, an' funnie jokes, — 

Their sports were cheap and cheery : 
Till butter'd so'ns wi' fragrant lunt 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne wi' a social glass o' strunt 250 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Gie him strong drink until he wink, 

That 's sinking in despair ; 
And Uquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That "s prest wi' grief and care : 
There let him bouse, and deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

And minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 

Let other poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, and wines, and drucken Bacchus, 

And crabbit names and stories wrack us, 



64 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

And grate our lug : 
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, 5 

In glass or jug. 

Oh thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch drink ! 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink 

In glorious faem, lo 

Inspire me till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, 

An' aits set up their awnie horn, 

An' pease and beans at e'en or morn 15 

Perfume the plain : 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 
Thou king o' grain ! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 

In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 20 

Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef ; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood. 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; 25 

Tho' life 's a gift no worth receivin. 
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; 

But oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill scrievin 

Wi' rattlin glee. 30 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair 



SCOTCH DRINK. 65 

At 's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 35 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine, 40 

His wee drap parritch or his bread 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants .»* 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 45 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 

O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in ! 5° 

Or reekin on a New-Year mornin 

In cog or bicker. 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 55 

And ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz and freath 

r th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 60 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel 
Brings hard owrehip wi' sturdy wheel 



66 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block and studdie ring an' reel 65 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How f umblin cuifs their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the name ! 70 

Nae howdy gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 

When neibors anger at a plea, 

An' just as wud as wud can be. 

How easy can the barley bree 75 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It 's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 

To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! 80 

But mony daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice. 
An' hardly in a winter's season 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 85 

Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash! 
Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 90 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well. 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel ! 



THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 67 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 95 

Or foreign gill. 

Fortune ! if thou '11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest. 
An' deal't about as thy bUnd skill 125 

Directs thee best. 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALU- 
TATION TO HLS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL 
IN THE NEW YEAR. 

A GUiD New- Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there 's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
The' thou 's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, 

I 've seen the day 
Thou could hae gane like ony staggie 5 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou 's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisie, 
I 've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, 

A bonie gray : 10 

He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank. 



68 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

An' set weel down a shapely shank 15 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank 

Like ony bird. 

It 's now some nine-and-twenty year 

Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere ; 20 

He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 't was weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 25 

Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee and funny. 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 30 

That day ye pranc'd wi' mickle pride. 
When ye bure hame my bonie bride : 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air! 
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide 35 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte an' hoble 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a j inker noble 

For heels an' win' ! 40 

An' ran them till they a' did wauble 

Far, far behin' ! 

When thou an' I were young an' skiegh, 
An' stable meals at fairs were driegh, 



THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 69 

How thou wad prance an' snore an' skriegh 45 

An' tak' the road ! 
Toun's bodies ran an' stood abiegh 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't an' I was mellow, 

We took the road ay like a swallow: 5° 

At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle 55 

Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch mile thou try't their mettle 

An' gart them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 6o 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan' 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours' gaun 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han' 65 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braing't an' fetch't an' flisket, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whisket 
An' spread abreed thy weel-lill'd brisket, 

Wi' pith an' pow'r, 70 

Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang an' snaws were deep 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep. 



70 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 75 

Aboon the timmer : 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestet ; 

The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it; So 

Thou never lap an' sten't an' breastet, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastet, 

Thou snoov 't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', 85 

Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae I 've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The vera warst. 90 

Mony a sair daurg we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought! 
An' mony an anxious day I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we 're brought 95 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld trusty servan!, 
That now, perhaps, thou 's less deservin, 
And thy auld days may end in stervin; 

For my last fou, 100 

A heapit stimpart, I '11 reserve ane, 

Laid by for you. 

We Ve worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We '11 toyte about wi' ane anither ; 



THE TWA DOGS. 71 



Wi' tentie care I '11 flit thy tether 105 

To some hained rig, 
Whare ye may noble rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



THE TWA dogs; 



A TALE. 



'T WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearin' through the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that werena thrang at hame 5 

Forgathered ance upon a time. 

The first I '11 name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Showed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 10 

But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
But though he was o' high degree, 15 

The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin. 
Even wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messan: 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, 20 

But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 



72 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhymin, rantin, ravin billie, 

Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 25 

An' in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang, 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dike. 3° 

His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie tail wi' upward curl 35 

Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowket ; 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howket ; 40 

Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown. 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
An' there began a lang digression 45 

About the ' lords o' the creation.' 

CESAR. 

I 've aften wondered, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
And when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 5° 

Our laird gets in his racket rents. 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents ; 



THE TWA DOGS. 73 

He rises when he likes himsel ; 

His flunkies answer at the bell ; 

He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 55 

He draws a bonie silken purse 

As lang 's my tail, where through the steeks 

The yellow-lettered Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it 's nought but toilin, 
At bakin, roastin, fryin, boilin ; 60 

And though the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha'-folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie, 
That 's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 65 

Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honour has in a' the Ian' ; 
And what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it 's past my comprehension. 70 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Coesar, whiles they 're fash't eneugh ; 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Barin a quarry, and sic like ; 

Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 75 

A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
And nought but his han'-daurg to keep 
Them right and tight in thack and rape. 

And when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters, 80 

Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
And they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; 



74 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

But how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, 

They 're maistly wonderfu' contented : 

And buirdly chiels an' clever hizzies 85 

Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

C^SAR. 

But then to see how you 're neglecket, 
How huff'd and cuff'd and disrespecket ! 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers and sic cattle ; 90 

They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
As I wad by a stinkin brock. 

I 've noticed, on our Laird's court-day, — 
And mony a time my heart 's been wae, — 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 95 

How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He '11 stamp and threaten, curse, and swear 
He '11 apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan' wi' aspect humble, 
And hear it a', and fear and tremble ! 100 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

LUATH. 

They 're no sae wretched 's ane wad think : 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink. 
They 're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 105 

The view o 't gies them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They 're aye in less or mair provided ; 
And tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest 's a sweet enjoyment. no 



THE TWA DOGS. 75 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans and faithfu' wives; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fireside. 

And whiles twalpennie worth o' nappy "5 

Can mak the bodies unco happy : 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs ; 
They '11 talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 120 

Or tell what new taxation 's comin. 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial^ ranting kirns, 
When rural life o' ev'ry station 125 

Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks. Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there 's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins. 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 130 

The nappy reeks wd' mantlin ream 
An' sheds a heart-inspirin steam; 
The luntin pipe an' sneeshin mill 
Are handed round wi' right guid will; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 135 

The young anes rantin thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them. 
That I for joy hae barket wi' them. 

Still it 's owre true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 140 



145 



76 SELECTIOATS FROM BURNS. 

There 's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk 
Are riven out baith root an' branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha, aiblins thrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 



C^SAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid! guid faith ! I doubt it. 150 

Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him. 
An' saying ay or ;/^'s they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading : 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 155 

To Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To mak a tour an' tak a whirl 
To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 160 

Or by Madrid he taks the rout 
To thrum guitars an' fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles ; 
Then bouses drumly German-water, 165 

To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 
And clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 



For Britain's guid ! — for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction. 



170 



THE TWA BOGS. 11 

LUATH. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ? 
Are we sae foughten and harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ? 

O would they stay aback frae courts i75 

An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them 's ill-hearted fellows : i8o 

Except for breakin o' their timmer. 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer. 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er-a-bit they 're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 185 

Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o 't need na fear them. 

C^SAR. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 190 

It 's true, they need na starve or sweat 
Thro' winter's cauld or simmer's heat ; 
They Ve nae sair wark to craze their banes. 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 19S 

For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themselves to vex them ; 



78 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 

In like proportion less will hurt them. 200 

A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres tilFd, he 's right eneugh ; 
A country girl at her w^heel, 
Her dizzens done, she 's unco weel : 
But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, 205 

Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, loungin, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless ; 210 

An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places, — 
There 's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art. 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party-matches, 215 

Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they 're mad wi' drink an' whoring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 220 

But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whiles, o'er the wee bit cup and platie, 
They sip the scandal-potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wd' crabbet leuks, 225 

Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
And cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 79 

There 's some exceptions, man an' woman ; 
But this is gentry's life in common. 230 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
And darker gloamin brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 235 

Rejoic'd they were na men^ but dogs ; 
And each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 

Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul ! 

Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society ! 

I owe thee much. Blair. 

Dear Smith, the slee-est pawkie thief 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely hae some warlock brief 

Owre human hearts ; 
For n'er a bosom yet was prief 5 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon 
An' ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye 've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 10 

An' ev'ry ither pair that 's doon, 

Mair taen I 'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin. Nature, 
To mak' amends for scrimpet stature, 



80 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

She 's turn'd you aff, a human creature 1 5 

On her first plan ; 
And, in her freaks, on every feature 

She 's wrote the Man. 

Just now I Ve taen the fit o' rhyme, 

My barmie noddle 's workin prime, 20 

My fancy yerket up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what 's comin ? 

Some rhyme a neibour's name to lash ; 25 

Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash ; 
Some rhyme to court the country clash. 

And raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash — 

I rhyme for fun. 30 

The star that rules my luckless lot 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

And damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But, in requit. 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 35 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion 's taen a sklent 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still the mair I 'm that way bent. 

Something cries '' Hoolie ! 40 

I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye '11 shaw your folly. 

" There 's ither poets much your betters. 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 81 

Hae thought they had insur'd their debtors 45 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages.'' 

Then farewell hopes o' laurel boughs 

To garland my poetic brows ! 5° 

Henceforth I '11 rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistlin thrang, 
And teach the lanely heights and howes 

My rustic sang. 

I '11 wander on, wi' tentless heed 55 

How never-halting moments speed, 
Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I '11 lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 6o 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we 're living, sound and hale ! 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care owre side ! 
And large before Enjoyment's gale 65 

Let 's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far 's I understand, 

Is a' enchanted fairy land. 

Where Pleasure is the magic wand. 

That, wielded right, 70 

Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five and forty 's speel'd, 



82 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 75 

Wi' wrinkl'd face. 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 

Then fareweel vacant careless roamin, 80 

An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear deluding Woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning 85 

Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away. 
Like schoolboys, at th' expected warning 

To joy and play. 90 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near 

Among the leaves : 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 95 

Short while it grieves. 

Some lucky find a flow'ry spot. 

For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 

They drink the sweet and eat the fat. 

But care or pain ; 100 

And haply eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some Fortune chase; 
Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 83 

Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 105 

And seize the prey ; 
Then cannie in some cozie place 
They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan'. 

Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin, no 

To right or left eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin, 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — "S 

But truce wi' peevish, poor complaining ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining 

Let's sing our sang. 120 

My pen I here fling to the door. 

An' kneel, ye Pow'rs, an' warm implore, 

" Tho' I should wander Terra o'er 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 125 

Aye rowth o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds. 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards 

An' maids of honour ! 130 

An' yill an' whisky gie to cairds. 

Until they scunner. 

" A title, Dempster merits it; 
A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 



84 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 135 

In cent, per cent. : 
But give me real, sterling wit, 

And I 'm content. 

"• While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 

I '11 sit down o'er my scanty meal, 140 

Be 't water-brose or muslin-kail, 

Wi' cheerfu' face. 
As lang 's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious ee I never throws 145 

Behint my lug or by my nose ; 

I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel 's I may; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, an' prose, 

I rhyme away. 150 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule. 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm an' cool, — 
Compar'd wi' you, O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 155 

Your lives a dyke ! 

Nae harebrained, sentimental traces 
In your unlettered, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 160 

But gravissiino^ solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're wise ; 
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 



THE VISION, 85 

The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 165 

The rattlin squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road ! 

Whilst I — but I shall haud me there : 

Wi' you I '11 scarce gang ony where — 170 

Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang. 
Content with you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



THE VISION. 



DUAN FIRST. 



The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play. 
And hunger'd maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 5 

Whare she has ben. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And when the day had clos'd his ee 

Far i' the west, 10 

Ben i' the spence right pensivelie 

I gaed to rest. 

There lanely by the ingle cheek 
I sat and ey'd the spewin reek, 



86 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

That fill'd wi' hoast-provokin smeek 15 

The auld clay biggin, 
And heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime 

I backward mus'd on wasted time, 20 

How I had spent my youthfu' prime. 

An' done nae thing 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harket, 25 

I might by this hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarket 

My cash account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarket. 

Is a' th' amount. 30 

I started, mutt'ring " Blockhead ! coof ! " 
And heav'd on high my wauket loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith. 
That I henceforth would be rhyme-proof 35 

Till my last breath, — 

When click ! the string the sneck did draw: 
An' jee ! the door gaed to the wa'. 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin bright, 40 

A tight, outlandish hizzie braw 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 



THE VISION, 87 

I glowr'd as eerie 's I 'd been dusht 45 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 

And steppet ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 

Were twisted gracefu' round her brows ; 50 

I took her for some Scottish Muse 

By that same token. 
And come to stop those reckless vows. 

Would soon been broken. 

A '' hair-brain'd sentimental trace " 55 

Was strongly market in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honour. 60 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
An' such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, light an' clean 65 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand, 70 

And seem'd to my astonish'd view 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 

There, mountains to the skies were toss't ; 



88 SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 

Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast 75 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds ; 80 

Auld hermit Ayr staw thro* his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low in a sandy valley spread, 85 

An ancient borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 
She boasts a race 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred 

And polish'd grace. 90 

By stately tow'r or palace fair. 

Or ruins pendent in the air. 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 95 

With feature stern. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 

I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair ; 

A whisp'ring throb did witness bear i35 

Of kindred sweet. 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 



THE VISION, 89 

*^ All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 

In me thy native Muse regard ! 140 

Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

" Know, the great Genius of this land 145 

Has many a light aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command. 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand^ 

Their labours ply. 150 

" They Scotia's race among them share : 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the bard, a darling care, 155 

The tuneful art. 



" Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
And this district as mine I claim, 200 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame. 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

'^With future hope I oft would gaze 205 

Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely caroll'd chiming phrase 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 210 



90 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

*' I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 215 

Struck thy young eye. 

" Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth. 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 220 

I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields and azure skies 

Called forth the reaper's rustling noise, 

I saw thee leave their evening joys, 225 

And lonely stalk 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

"When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong. 
Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along, 230 

Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song 

To soothe thy flame. 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play 235 

Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way. 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 240 



THE VISION. 91 

** I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 245 

Become thy friends. 

*' Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe 

With Shenstone's art; 250 

Or pour with Gray the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

*^ Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose. 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 255 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 

Adown the glade. 

*^ Then never murmur nor repine ; 

Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 260 

And, trust me, not Potosi's mine 

Nor king's regard 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic bard. 

^^ To give my counsels all in one — 265 

Thy tuneful flame still careful fan : 
Preserve the dignity of Man 

W^ith soul erect ; 
And trust the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 270 



92 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

" And wear thou ////>," she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 275 

In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY 

RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule, 

And lump them aye thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool. 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight, 

May hae some pyles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o* daffin. — Solomon, Eccles. vii, 16. 

YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 
Sae pious and sae holy, 

Ye Ve nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neibour's fauts and folly! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, S 

Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer 's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter, — 

Hear me, ye venerable core. 

As counsel for poor mortals, 10 

That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaiket Folly's portals; 

1 for their thoughtless, careless sakes 

Would here propone defences — 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 93 

Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 15 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer; 
But cast a moment's fair regard. 

What maks the mighty differ? 20 

Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what 's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 25 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What ragings must his veins convulse 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail. 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 3^ 

But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 

See Social Life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking. 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they 're grown 35 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or — your more dreaded hell to state — 

Damnation of expenses ! 40 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Tied up in godly laces, 
Before you gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases : 



94 SELECTIOiXS FROM BURNS. 

A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 45 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 50 

Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving Why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 55 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 't is He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord, its various tone, 

Each spring, its various bias : 60 

Then at the balance, let 's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What 's done we partly can compute, 

But know not what 's resisted. 



SONG COMPOSED IN SPRING. 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues ; 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

Chorus. — An' maun I still on Menie doat. 

An' bear the scorn that 's in her ee ? 



SOJVG COMPOSED IN SPRING. 95 

For it 's jet, jet black, an' it 's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be. 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; lo 

In vain to me in glen or shaw 

The mavis an' the lintwhite sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 

Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ; 
But life to me 's a weary dream, 15 

A dream of ane that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims. 

An' every thing is blest but I. 20 

The sheep-herd steeks his fauldin-slap. 
An' owre the moorland whistles shill; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

An' when the lark 'tween light an' dark 25 

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 
An' mounts an' sings on flitterin wings, 

A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

Come winter, with thine angry howl. 

An' raging bend the naked tree : 30 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 

When nature all is sad like me 1 



96 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, I786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r. 
Thou 's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 5 

Thou bonie gem. 

Alas ! it 's no thy neibor sweet, 
The bonie lark, companion meet. 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet 

Wi' spreckrd breast, lo 

When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 

Upon thy early, humble birth ; 

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth iS 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 

High sheltering woods an' wa's maun shield : 20 

But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 

Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 97 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 30 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd 

And guileless trust ; 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 35 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 40 

Till billows rage and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n, 

Who long with wants and woes has striv'n. 

By human pride or cunning driv'n 45 

To mis'ry's brink ; 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He ruin'd sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 

That fate is thine — no distant date ; 5° 

Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate. 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom. 



98 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

TO MARY. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across the Atlantic's roar? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange 5 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; lo 

And sae may the Heavens forget me. 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand ; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 15 

Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join. 
And curst be the cause that shall part us ! 

The hour, and the moment o' time ! 20 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 
A something to have sent you, 

Tho' it should serve nae ither end 
Than just a kind memento ; 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG ERIEND, 99 

But how the subject-theme may gang, 5 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, lo 

Ye '11 find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end 's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 15 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I '11 no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden 'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 20 

But och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake. 

It 's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 25 

Their fate we should na censure ; 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 30 

A man may tak a neibor's part. 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free, aff han', your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 35 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 



100 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Conceal yoursel as weel 's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek through ev'ry other man 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 40 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
I waive the quantum o' the sin, 45 

The hazard o' concealing; 
But och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 50 

And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That 's justify'd by honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 55 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip 

To haud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honour grip. 

Let that aye be your border : 60 

Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere 65 

Must sure become the creature ; 

But still the preaching cant forbear. 
An' ev'n the rigid feature : 



A DREAM, 101 

Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 70 

An atheist laugh 's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 75 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we 're tempest driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker, 
A correspondence iix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 80 

Adieu! dear, amiable youth. 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, an' truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, **God send you speed" 85 

Still daily to grow wiser : 
An' may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 



A DREAM. 



Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason, 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 

GuiD-MoRNiN to your Majesty ! 

May heaven augment your blisses 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble Bardie wishes. 
My Bardship here at your Levee, 



102 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see 
Amang thae birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 

I see ye 're complimented thrang lo 

By mony a lord an' lady ; 
*^ God save the King ! " 's a cuckoo sang 

That 's unco easy said aye : 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 15 

Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But aye unerring steady. 
On sic a day. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 20 

For neither pension, post, nor place. 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So — nae reflection on your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter — 
There 's monie waur been o' the race, 25 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 

'T is very true, my sov'reign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted ; 
But facts are chiels that winna ding 30 

And downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest beneath your wing 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted. 
And now the third part of the string. 

And less, will gang about it 35 

Than did ae day. 



A DREAM. 103 

Far be 't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say ye wisdom want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 40 

But faith ! I muckle doubt, my sire, 

Ye Ve trusted ministration 
To chaps wha in a barn or byre 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 45 

And now ye Ve gien auld Britain peace 

Her broken shins to plaister. 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester : 
For me, thank God, my life 's a lease, 50 

Nae bargain wearin faster. 
Or faith ! I fear that wi' the geese 

I shortly boost to pasture 

r the craft some day. 

I 'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 55 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will 's a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spairges). 
That he intends to pay your debt 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 60 

But Gude sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 65 

An' may ye rax Corruption's neck. 
And gie her for dissection ! 



104 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

But since I 'm here, I '11 no neglect, 

In loyal true affection, 
To pay your Queen with due respect 7o 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 75 

A simple poet gies ye ? 
Thae bonie bairntime Heav'n has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 8o 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream wi' swelling sails 

I 'm tauld ye 're driving rarely ; 85 

But some day ye may gnaw your nails 

An' curse your folly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie 

By night or day. 90 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 
Sae, ye may doucely fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him at Agincourt wha shone, 95 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet wi' funny, queer Sir John 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 



A DREAM. 105 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg, loo 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 105 

Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug. 

Or, trowth ! ye '11 stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn. 

Ye 've lately come athwart her — no 

A glorious galley, stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 
But first hang out, that she '11 discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple-airn, 115 

An', large upon her quarter. 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a'. 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 120 

An' gie you lads a-plenty ! 
But sneer na British boys awa. 

For kings are unco scant aye ; 
An' German gentles are but sma', 

They 're better just than want aye 125 

On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now 

Ye 're unco muckle dautet ; 
But ere the course o' life be through 

It may be bitter sautet : 130 



106 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day. 135 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come, mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie 's gien us a' a jink, 5 

And owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Nae mair he '11 join the merry roar 

In social key; 10 

For now he 's taen anither shore, 

And owre the sea ! 

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him. 

And in their dear petitions place him : 

The widows, wives, and a' may bless him, iS 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they '11 sairly miss him 

That 's owre the sea ! 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 

Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, 20 



ON A SCOTCH BARD. 107 

Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 

'T wad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble, 

That 's owre the sea ! 

Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 25 

And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 
'T will mak' her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureat mony a year. 

That 's owre the sea! 30 

He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 35 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach 

Could ill agree ; 40 

So, row't his hurdles in a hammock 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguidin, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hidin, 45 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in 

That 's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel 

An' hap him in a cozie biel ; 50 



108 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Ye '11 find him ay' a dainty chiel 

And fou o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That 's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie ! 55 

Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily 

Now bonilie ! 
I *11 toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea ! 6o 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool ? — 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song. 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng ? — 

Oh, pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs himself life's mad career 15 

Wild as the wave ? — 
Here pause — and thro' the starting tear 

Survey this grave. 



10 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 109 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know, 20 

And keenly felt the friendly glow 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader^ attend ! whether thy soul 25 

Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 30 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

'T WAS when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potato-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 5 

Unnumber'd buds' and flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles. 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 10 

The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 15 

Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 



no SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 

Except, perhaps, the robin's whistlin glee. 

Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 

The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 20 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, 

While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the rays. 



'T was in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor — simplicity's reward ! — 
Ae night within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 25 

By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care. 
He left his bed, and took his wayward route. 
And down by Simpson's w^heel'd the left about 
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 30 

Or, whether, rapt in meditation high. 
He wandered out he knew not where nor why). 
The drowsy Dungeon-clock had numbered two. 
And Wallace Tower had sworn the fact was true : 
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding roar, 35 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed ee ; 
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree ; 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 
Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream. 40 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air. 
Swift as the gos drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 45 

The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. Ill 

(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 

And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 5^ 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 

And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 

Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race. 

The very wrinkles Gothic in his face : 

He seem'd as he wi' Time had wrastl'd lang, 55 

Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 

New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat. 

That he at Lon'on frae ane Adams got ; 

In 's hand five taper staves as smooth 's a bead, 

Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 60 

The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 

Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 

It chanc'd his new-come neibor took his ee. 

And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he 1 

Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 65 

He down the water gies him this guid-een : — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, frien', ye '11 think ye 're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 

Tho', faith ! that date, I doubt, ye '11 never see — 70 

There '11 be, if that day come, I '11 wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal ! ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 75 

Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonie brigs o' modern time ? 



112 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

There 's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream, 

Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 80 

Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 

O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wd' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I Ve stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I 'm sair forfairn, 85 

I '11 be a Brig, when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 90 

When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. 
Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 95 

In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate. 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; 
And from Glenbuck down to the Ratton-Key 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 100 

Then down ye '11 hurl (deil nor ye never rise !) 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies ! 
A lesson sadly teaching to your cost 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say 't o't; 105 
The Lord be thankit that we 've tint the gate o 't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 113 

O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 

Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : no 

Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, 

With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 

Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, 

The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 

Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 115 

And still the second dread command be free, — 

Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea ! 

Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 

Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 

Fit only for a doitet monkish race, 120 

Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 

Or cuifs of latter times wha held the notion 

That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion : 

Fancies that our good Brugh denies protection ! 

And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 125 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings. 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye ; . 
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Conveners, 130 

To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And — what would now be strange — ye godly Writers ; 135 
A' ye douce folk I Ve borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation. 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 140 



114 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

When ye begat the base, degen'rate race ! 
Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ; 
Nae langer thrifty citizens and douce, 

Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house ; 145 

But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men three-parts made by tailors and by barbers. 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd new brigs 
and harbours. 

NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there ! for faith ye 've said enow, 1 50 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. 
As for your Priesthood I shall say but little, — 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But, under favour o' your langer beard. 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd: 155 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth *a Citizen,' a term o' scandal; 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 160 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins. 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins : 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp. 
Had shor'd them wi' a glimmer of his lamp, 165 

And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them. 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver might been said. 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight 170 

A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 115 

Adown the glittering stream they f eatly danc'd ; 

Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced : 

They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 

The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : '75 

While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 

And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 

O had M'Lauchlan, thairm-inspiring sage. 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland 

rage ; i8o 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 185 

But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief, advanced in years ; 190 

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring. 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 195 

And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow ; 200 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; 



116 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Benevolence with mild, benignant air, 

A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : 

Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 205 

From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath. 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken, iron instruments of death: 

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 210 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
Sae far I sprachled up the brae, 5 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

I Ve been at drucken writers' feasts. 

Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests — 

Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ! — 
I 've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 10 

When mighty Squireships of the Quorum 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord — stand out' my shin ! 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son! 

Up higher yet, my bonnet! 15 

And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look owre my sonnet. 

But O for Hogarth's magic pow'r 

To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 20 



A WINTER NIGHT. 117 

And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlor hammered ! 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 25 

An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 30 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming : 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce nor state that I could see, 35 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel 's another : 
Nae honest worthy man need care 40 

To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoever you are, 

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 

Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 

From seasons such as these ? Shakespeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure. 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 



118 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

When Phoebus gies a short lived glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-darkening thro' the flaky show'r 5 

Or whirling drift ; 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, lo 

Or, thro' the mining outlet booked, 

Down headlong hurl : 

Listening the doors and winnocks rattle, 

I thought me on the ourie cattle, 

Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 15 

O' winter war. 
An' through the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle 

Beneath a scaur. 

Ilk happin bird — wee, helpless thing! — 

That in the merry months o' spring 20 

Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing 

An' close thy ee ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 25 

Lone from your savage homes exil'd, — 
The blood-stain'd roost an' sheep-cot spoil'd 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 3^ 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain ; 



A WINTER NIGHT. 119 

Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 35 

Slow-solemn, stole : — 

" Blow, blow ye winds with heavier gust ! 

And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 

Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 

Not all your rage, as now united, shows 40 

More hard unkindness, unrelenting. 

Vengeful malice, unrepenting. 
Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows ! 

*' See stern Oppression's iron grip. 

Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 45 

Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land ! 

Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale. 

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale : 
How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 5° 

The parasite empoisoning her ear. 

With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ; 

And eyes the simple, rustic hind, 

Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show — 55 

A creature of another kind, 

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd — 
Plac'd for her lordly use^ thus far, thus vile, below ! 

"Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe. 

With lordly Honour's lofty brow, 60 

The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim. 

To bless himself alone? 



120 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Mark Maiden-Innocence a prey 
To love-pretending snares : 

This boasted Honour turns away, 

Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray'rs ! 

Perhaps this hour, in Misery's squalid nest, 70 

She strains your infant to her joyless breast. 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast ! 

"O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down. 

Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 75 

Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call. 

Stretched on his straw, he lays himself to sleep ; 
While through the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

Chill, o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 80 

Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 

Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 

Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 

But shall thy legal rage pursue 

The wretch, already crushed low 85 

Bv cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; 

A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! " 

I heard nae mair, for chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 90 

And hailed the morning with a cheer — 

A cottage-rousing craw\ 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Through all His w^orks abroad. 
The heart benevolent and kind 95 

The most resembles God. 



TO A HAGGIS, 121 



TO A HAGGIS. 



Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm: 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 5 

As lang 's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, lo 

While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight, 

And cut you up wi' ready slight. 

Trenching your gushing entrails bright 15 

Like ony ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive : 

Deil tak' the hindmost ! on they drive, 20 

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 

'' Bethanket ! " hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout, 25 

Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Ox fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect scunner. 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner? 3° 



122 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a withered rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve a nit ; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash 35 

Oh how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade. 

He '11 mak it whissle ; 40 

And legs an' arms an' heads will sned 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care. 

And dish them out their bill o' fare, 

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 45 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a haggis ! 



ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET 
BY THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE. 
GUIDWIFE, 

I mind it weel in early date. 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

An' first could thresh the barn. 
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh. 
An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh. 

Yet unco proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 



ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET 123 

A man I reckoned was, 
And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 

Could rank my rig and lass, lo 

Still shearing, and clearing 

The tither stooked raw, 
Wi' claivers an' haivers 
Wearing the day awa : 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power), 15 

A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 20 

The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 

No nation, no station 25 

My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 30 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that hairst I said before. 
My partner in the merry core 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 35 

That lighted up my jingle. 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 

That gart my heart-strings tingle ; 
I fired, inspired, 



124 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

At ev'ry kindling keek, 40 

But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance on winter days, 

An' we to share in common : 45 

The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below. 

Is rapture-giving Woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither : 5° 

She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye 're connected with her. 
Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men, 
That slight the lovely dears ; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 55 

Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marl'd plaid ye kindly spare 60 

By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'T wad please me to the nine. 
I 'd be more vauntie o' my hap. 

Douce hingin owre my curple, 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 65 

Or proud imperial purple. 

Farewell then, lang hale then 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 

Ne'er at your hallan ca'l 70 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 125 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; 
Come, let us spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

CHORUS. — Bonie lassie, will ye go, 5 

Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldy? 

The little birdies blythely sing, 
While o'er their heads the hazels hing, lo 

Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 15 

The birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
An', rising, weets wi' misty showers 

The birks of Aberfeldy. 20 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 



126 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you '11 hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 5 

In flaming summer-pride. 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly- jumpin glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my w^aters play, lo 

If, in their random, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I 'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 15 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi^ spite and teen. 

As poet Burns came by. 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 20 

A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, 25 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roarins: o'er a linn : 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 127 

Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 3° 

I am, altho' I say 't mysel. 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He '11 shade my banks wi tow'ring trees 35 

And bonie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my lord, 

You '11 wander on my banks. 
And listen monie a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 4° 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child. 

Shall sweetly join the choir ; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 45 

The mavis mild and mellow. 
The robin, pensive Autumn cheer 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall ensure 

To shield them from the storm ; 5° 

And cow^ard maukin sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat 

To weave his crown of flow'rs. 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat 55 

From prone-descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 
Shall meet the loving pair, 



128 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 60 

The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 
The hour of heav'n to grace, 

And birks extend their fragrant arms 
To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too at vernal dawn 65 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn 

And misty mountain gray ; 
Or by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 70 

Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty hrs and ashes cool 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 75 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 80 

So may old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken 85 

To social-flowing glasses 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men 

And Athole's bonie lasses ! " 



BLYTHE, BLYTHE AiVD MERRY WAS SHE. 129 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, 

With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair! 
But the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
Mfld be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 5 

In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ; 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. 

With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn! lo 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies. 

And England, triumphant, display her proud rose ; 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, 15 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



BLYTHE, BLYTHE AND MERRY WAS SHE. 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik. 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie was a bonier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 

CHORUS. — Blythe, blythe and merry was she, 
Blythe Vv^as she but and ben : 
Blythe by the banks of Earn, 
An' blythe in Glenturit glen. 



130 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Her looks were like a iiow'r in May, 

Her smile was like a simmer morn : lo 

She tripped by the banks o' Earn, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn, 

Her bonie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet *5 

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 

The Highland hills I 've wander'd wide, 
An' o'er the Lawlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 

That ever trod the dewy green. 20 



M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
M'Pherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 

CHORUS. — Sae rantinly, sae wantonly, 5 

Sae dauntinly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring and danc'd it round. 
Below the gallows tree. 

what is death but parting breath? — 

On monie a bloody plain 10 

1 Ve dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Untie these bands from off my hands 
And bring to me my sword. 



MV HOGGIE. 131 

And there 's no man in all Scotland, 15 

But I '11 brave him at a word. 

I 've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 20 

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, 

And all beneath the sky! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dare not die ! 



MY HOGGIE. 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie? 
My only beast, I had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 

The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 5 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nocht but the roaring linn 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 

But the howlet cry'd frae the castle wa', 

The blitter frae the boggie, 10 

The tod reply'd upon the hill, 
I trembled for my Hoggie. 

When day did daw and cocks did craw, 

The morning it was foggie; 
An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, 15 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie ! 



132 SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 



In this strange land, this uncouth cUme, 

A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles 

Nor limpit in poetic shackles ; 

A land that Prose did never view it, 5 

Except when drunk he stacher't through it ; 

Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, — 

I hear it, for in vain I leuk. lo 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Enhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk like ither Christians, 15 

I 'm dwindled down to mere existence, 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae ken'd face but Jenny Geddes. 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 20 

And ay a westlin leuk she throws. 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose ! 

Was it for this wi' canny care 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 25 

And late or early never grumbled ? — 

had I power like inclination, 

1 'd heeze thee up a constellation, 
To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 30 

Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 

Or, wdien auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 133 

Down the zodiac urge the race, 

And cast dirt on his godship's face ; 

For I could lay my bread and kail 35 

He 'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 

Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 

And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 

And nought but peat reek i' my head, 

How can I write what ye can read ? — 40 

Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 

Ye '11 find me in a better tune ; 

But till we meet and weet our whistle, 

Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There 's wild woods grow an' rivers row, 5 

An' mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flow'rs, 

I see her sweet an' fair: 10 

I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There 's not a bonie flow'r that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There 's not a bonie bird that sings, 15 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



134 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And auld lang syne ? 

CHORUS. — For auld lang syne, my dear, 5 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp. 

And surely I'll be mine ! lo 

And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wander'd mony a weary fit 15 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

From mornin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 

Sin' auld lang syne. 20 

And there 's a hand, my trusty fier, 

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid-willie waught 

For auld lang syne. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 135 



GO FETCH TO ME A PINT O' WINE. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonie lassie : 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 5 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly. 

The glittering spears are ranked ready, 10 

The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes deep and bloody ; 
It 's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Would mak me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 15 

It 's leaving thee, my bonie Mary ! 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonie brow w^as brent ; 
But now your brow is beld, John, 5 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 10 



136 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

And monie a canty day, John, 

We Ve had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

And hand in hand we '11 go, 
, And sleep thegither at the foot, 15 

John Anderson my jo. 



TAM GLEN. 



My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie, 

Some counsel unto me come len' ; 
To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 

I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, 5 

In poortith I might mak a fen' : 
What care I in riches to wallow. 

If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? 

There 's Lowrie, the laird o' Dumeller, 

"Guid-day to you," — brute ! he comes ben : 10 
He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave me. 

And bids me beware o' young men ; 
They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 15 

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 

My daddie says, gin I '11 forsake him. 

He '11 gie me guid hunder marks ten : 
But, if it's ordain 'd I maun take him, 

O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 20 



WILLIE BREWED A PECK 6>' MAUT. 137 

Yestreen at the valentines' dealing, 

My heart to my mou gied a sten : 
For thrice I drew ane without failing, 

And thrice it was written, " Tarn Glen " ! 

The last Halloween I was w^aukin 25 

My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken : 
His likeness cam up the house staukin. 

And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen! 

Come counsel, dear tittie, don't tarry; 

I '11 gie ye my bonie black hen, 3° 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 



WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT. 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. 

An' Rob an' Allan cam to see : 
Three blyther hearts that lee-lang night 

Ye wad na found in Christendie. 

Chorus. — We are na fou, we're nae that fou, \ 

But just a drappie in our ee; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw. 
And aye we '11 taste the barley bree. 

Here are w^e met, three merry boys. 

Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 10 

An' mony a night w^e 've merry been, 
And mony mae w^e hope to be ! 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
That 's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 



138 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

She shines sae bright to wile us hame, iS 

But, by my sooth, she '11 wait a wee ! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 

A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 

He is the king amang us three ! 20 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary! dear departed shade! 5 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 10 

Where by the winding Ayr we met 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past, 
Thy image at our last embrace — 15 

Ah ! little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbl'd shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ; 

The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene : 20 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 139 

The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 25 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th^ impression stronger makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 3° 

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I ken'd it still, your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring you to : 
Lord send ye aye as weel 's I want ye, 5 

And then ye '11 do. 

The Ill-Thief blaw the Heron south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth. 

He 'd tak' my letter ; 10 

I lippen'd to the chield in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron, 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 



140 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

To ware his theologic care on, 15 

And holy study; 
And, tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on. 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d' ye think, my trusty fier ? 

I 'm turn'd a ganger — Peace be here ! 20 

Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye '11 now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 25 

Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 30 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, — 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt. 
But I '11 sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies, 35 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I 'm weary — sick o 't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers ; 40 

But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 



ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON 141 

And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 45 

A lady fair: 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 

(I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 5° 

To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That 's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie 55 

And eke the same to honest Lucky: 
I wat she is a daintie chuckle 

As e'er tread clay : 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockle, 

I 'm yours for aye. 6o 



ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS 
IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright : 
His soul was Uke the glorious sun, 

A matchless. Heavenly light. 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell an' bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
An' like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 



142 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood an' wild, lo 

Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd ! 

Ye hills ! near neibors o' the starns, 

That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 

Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 15 

Where Echo slumbers! 
Come join ye. Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 

Ye haz'ly shaws an' briery dens ! 20 

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang wi' hasty stens 

Frae linn to linn ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; 25 

Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonilie 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 3° 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head ; 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed 

I' th' rustling gale, — 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 35 

Come join my wail. 



ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 143 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover; 40 

And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He 's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots and speckled teals ; 

Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 

Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 45 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 

'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; 5^ 

And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r 55 

In some auld tree or eldritch tow'r. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glower, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 60 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains: 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my een the drappin rains 65 

Maun ever flow. 



144 SELECriOXS FROM BURNS. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 70 

Thy gay, green, fiow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 

In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 

Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 75 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light I 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! 80 

And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he 's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 85 

And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 9° 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I '11 w^ait. 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 95 

E'er lay in earth. 



TAM O' SHANTER. 145 



TAM O' SHANTER. 

A TALE. 

Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke. — Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neibors neibors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
And folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousin at the nappy, 5 

And gettin fou and unco happy. 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, lo 

Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter : 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 15 

For honest men and bonie lasses.) 

O Tam ! had'st thou but been sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum ; 20 

That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober; 
That ilka melder wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 25 

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 



146 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

She prophesied, that, late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon ; 3° 

Or catch't wi' warlocks in the mirk, 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthened sage advices, 35 

The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezin finely, 
Wi' reamin swats that drank divinely ; 4° 

And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony : 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 45 

And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious 
Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious : 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 5° 

The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy : 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 55 

The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 6o 



TAM 6>' SHANTER. 147 

Or like the snow falls in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever ; 

Or like the borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place ; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely form 65 

Evanishing amid the storm. 

Nae man can tether time or tide : 

The hour approaches Tam maun ride, — 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 70 

And sic a night he taks the road in. 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 75 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand. 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mear, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 80 

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising v/ind and rain and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet. 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, 85 

Lest bogles catch him unawares. 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 90 

And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drucken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 



148 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 

Whar€ hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 

And near the thorn, aboon the well, 95 

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 

Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 

The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 

The lightnings flash from pole to pole, 

Near and more near the thunders roll ; loo 

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 

Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; 

Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, 

And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 



'fe> 



Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! 105 

What dangers thou can'st make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae we '11 face the devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. no 

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 

^Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 115 

Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels : 
A winnock bunker in the east, 
There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast ; 120 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. 
To gie them music was his charge ; 
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 



TAM (9' SHANTER. 149 

Coffins stood round like open presses, 125 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 

And by some devilish cantraip sleight 

Each in its cauld hand held a light, 

By which heroic Tarn was able 

To note upon the haly table 130 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape — 

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; i35 

Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft — 

The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; Ho 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: 
The piper loud and louder blew, i45 

The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit 
And coost her duddies to the wark 
And linket at it in her sark ! 150 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ! 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ! — 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, ^55 

That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 



150 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

I wad hae gien them aff my hurdles, 
For ae blink o' the bonle hurdles ! 

But wlther'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, i6o 

Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie ; 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night enlisted in the core 165 

(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore : 
For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd mony a bonie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear. 
And kept the country-side in fear); 170 

Her cutty sark o' Paisley ham. 
That while a lassie she had worn. 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. 
Ah ! little kent thy reverend grannie, 175 

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 180 

To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang,) 
And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd. 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, 185 

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 



TAM O' SHANTER. 151 

And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark! '^ 

And in an instant all was dark : 190 

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 

When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, i95 

When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market- crowd, 
When " Catch the thief ! " resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' monv an eldritch skriech and hollo. 200 

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin ! 
In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 205 

And win the key-stane of the brig : 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 210 

For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 215 

But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, 220 



152 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys owre dear, 
Remember Tarn o' Shanter's mear. 



BONIE BOON. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 

How can ye bkmie sae fair ? 
How can ye chant, ye Uttle birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care ? 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird, 5 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days, 

When mv fause luve was true. 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; lo 

For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon 

To see the w^ood-bine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 15 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw my rose 

But left the thorn wi' me. 20 



FLOW GENTLY, SWEET A ETON. 153 



O FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. 

Chorus. — An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tarn! 

And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tarn ! 
I '11 learn my kin a rattlin sang, 
An I saw ane-and-twenty. Tarn. 

Thev snool me sair an' haud me down, 5 

An' gar me look like bluntie, Tarn ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
An' then comes ane-and-twenty, Tarn. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 

Was left me by my auntie, Tam : lo 

At kith or kin I need na spier. 

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'st thou, laddie! there 's my loof, 15 
I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 



FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 5 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crCvSted lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 



154 SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 

Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills ; lo 

There daily I wander as noon rises high, 

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft, as mild Evening weeps over the lea, i5 

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 

And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 

How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. 

As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. 20 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



AE FOND KISS. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 

Ae fareweel, and then for ever! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 

Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, 5 

While the star of hope she leaves him t 

Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; 

Dark despair around benights me. 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 

Naething could resist my Nancy ; 10 

But to see her was to love her ; 

Love but her, and love for ever. 



THE BE UK'S BANG O'ER MY BABBIE. 155 

Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 

Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 

Never met — or never parted — 15 

We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 

Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 

Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 

Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 20 

Ae one fond kiss, and then we sever ; 

Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 

Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee ! 



THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE. 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout : 

" The deuk 's dang o'er my daddie, O ! " 
" The fient-ma-care," quo' the feirie auld wife, 

" He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 5 

An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O." 

" O haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 

O haud your tongue now, Nansie, O ! 10 

I 've seen the day, and sae hae ye. 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, O ; 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose 

And cuddl'd me late and early, O ; 
But downa-do 's come o'er me now, 15 

And, och, I find it sairly, O!" 



156 SELECTIONS EROM BURNS. 



THE DEIL'S AWA WF THE EXCISEMAN. 

The deil cam fiddling through the town, 
An' danced awa wi' the Exciseman, 

And ilka wife cries, "Auld Mahoun, 
I wish you luck o' the prize, man ! '* 

Chorus. — The deil 's awa, the deil 's awa, 5 

The deil 's awa wi' the Exciseman ; 
He 's danc'd awa, he 's danc'd awa. 
He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ! 

We '11 mak our maut, and we '11 brew our drink, 
We'll laugh, sing, an' rejoice, man; lo 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil 
That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 

There's threesome reels, there 's foursome reels, 
There 's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 

But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land 
Was — The deil 's awa wi' the Exciseman. 15 



BESSY AND HER SPINNIN WHEEL. 

O LEEZE me on my spinnin wheel, 

leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 

1 '11 set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 



BONIE LESLEY. 157 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 

And meet below my theekit cot; lo 

The scented birk and hawthorn white 

Across the pool their arms unite. 

Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 

And little fishes' caller rest : 

The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 15 

Where blythe I turn my spinnin wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail. 

And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 

The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 

Delighted, rival ither's lays ; 20 

The craik amang the claver hay, 

The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 

The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 

Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 25 

Aboon distress, below envy, 

O wha wad leave this humble state, 

For a' the pride of a' the great? 

Amid their flarin, idle toys. 

Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 30 

Can they the peace and pleasure feel 

Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel t 



BONIE LESLEY. 



O SAW ye bonie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She 's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 



15S SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

To see her is to love her, 5 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And never made anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects, we before thee : lo 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He 'd look into thy bonie face, 15 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 20 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonie. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, 

An' owsen frae the furrow'd field 
Return sae dowf an' weary, O; 



HIGHLAND MARY. 159 

Down by the burn, where scented birks 5 

Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo, 
I '11 meet thee on the lea rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

I.'d rove, an' ne'er be eerie, O, lo 

If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

An' I were ne'er sae weary, O. 
I 'd meet thee on the lea rig, 15 

My ain kind dearie, O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo *, 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 20 

Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray, 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 



160 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, lo 

As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life, ' 15 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 20 

But O ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 25 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 30 

But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Gray came here to woo. 
Ha, ha, the wooin o ' t ! 

On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 
Ha, ha, the wooin o 't ! 



DUNCAN GRAY. 161 

Maggie coost her head fu hiegh, 5 

Look'd asklent and unco skiegh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh ; 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! lo 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin owre a linn ; 15 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
SUghted love is sair to bide. 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 20 

'' Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, 
^' For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me! " 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 

How it comes let doctors tell, 25 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
Meg grew sick as he grew hale. 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 30 

And O ! her een, they spak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Duncan was a lad o' grace. 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 35 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 



162 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they 're crouse and cantie baith ; 

Ha, ha, the wooin o 't ! 40 



GALA WATER. 

Braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, 

Ye wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws 
Can match the lads o' Gala Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 5 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; 
And I '11 be his, and he '11 be mine, 

The bonie lad o' Gala Water. 

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ; 10 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 

We '11 tent our flocks by Gala Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er w^as wealth 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 15 

O that 's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



WANDERING WILLIE. 



Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie. 

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the sam^. 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 163 

Loud tho' the winter blew cauld at our parting, 5 

'T was na the blast brought the tear in my ee ; 

Welcome now simmer and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, 

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! lo 

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows. 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
But O, if he 's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 

Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main 1 
May 1 never see it, may I never trow it, 15 

But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 

Chorus. — O whistle, an' I '11 come to you, my lad ! 
O whistle, an' I '11 come to you, my lad ! 
Tho' father an' mither an' a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, an' I '11 come to you, my lad ! 

But wearily tent, when ye come to court me, 5 

And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-style, and let naebody see. 
And come as ye were na comin to me. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 10 

But steal me a blink o' your bonie black ee, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, 15 

For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 



164 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

SCOTS WHA HAE. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has af ten led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 

Or to victory ! 
Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 5 

See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 

Chains and slavery ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 

Wha can fill a coward's grave ? lo 

Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Let him turn and flee ! 
Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa', 15 

Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall be free ! 20 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! — • 

Let us do, or die ! 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, " alas ! " 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES, 165 

And aye the saut tear blin's her ee: 
" Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 5 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear. 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

*^ Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see ; lo 

And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 15 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee." 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 

Chorus. — Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 

Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows, 
My bonie dearie. 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 5 

Sounding Cluden's woods amang, 
Then a-fauldin let us gang. 
My bonie dearie. 

We '11 gae down by Cluden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 10 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midnight hours. 



166 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS, 

O'er the dewy-bending flowers, 15 

Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou 'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 

My bonie dearie. 20 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonie dearie. 



THE WINTER OF LIFE. 

But lately seen in gladsome green. 

The woods rejoiced the day ; 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers, 

In double pride were gay ; 
But now our joys are fled 5 

On winter blasts awa ; 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow — nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 10 

My trunk of eild, but buss or beild. 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

An' nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 15 

Why comes thou not again t 



MV NANIE'S AWA. 167 

CONTENTED WP LITTLE. 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 

Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, 

I gie them a skelp as they 're creepin alang, 

Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome Thought ; 5 

But man is a soger, and life is a faught : 

My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, 

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', — 

A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a'; lo 

When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 

Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way, 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : 
Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain, 15 

My warst word is — '^ Welcome, and welcome again ! " 



MY NANIE'S AWA. 

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Name's awa. 

The snaw-drop and primrose our woodlands adorn, 5 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn : 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nanie — and Nanie's awa. 



168 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, lo 
And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa'. 
Give over for pity — my Nanie's awa. 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 

And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay ; 

The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw 15 

Alane can delight me — now Nanie's awa. 



A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hings his head, an' a' that ? 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a* that ! 

For a' that, an' a' that, 5 

Our toils obscure, an' a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp ; 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' or) hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden-gray, an' a' that ; 10 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

Their tinsel show, an' a' that ; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 15 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that: 20 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN, 169 

For a' that, an' a' that, 

His riband, star, an' a' that. 
The man o' independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

• 
A prince can mak a belted knight, 25 

A marquis, duke, an' a' that ; 

But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

Their dignities, an' a' that, 7P 

The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth. 

Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 35 

May bear the gree, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 40 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

"Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething ? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour, my gutcher has 

A heigh house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye my bonie sel, 

The toss of Ecclefechan." 



170 SELECTIONS FROM BURXS. 

*'0 baud your tongue now, luckie Laing, 

haud your tongue and jauner; lo 
I held the gate till you I met, 

Syne I began to wander : 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

But your green graff, now, luckie Laing, 15 

Wad airt me to my treasure." 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, " 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men : 
The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me. 5 

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een. 

And vow'd for my love he was diein ; 
I said he might die when he liked for Jean : 

The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein, 

The Lord forgie me for liein ! 10 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird. 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I ken'd it, or cared. 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 

But thought I might hae waur offers. 15 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
(The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! ) 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. 20 



EPISTLE TO COLONEL DE FEVSTER. 171 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 

And wha but my fine fickle lover was there. 
I glowr'd as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 
I glowr'd as I 'd seen a warlock. 25 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. 
Lest neibors might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper'd as he 'd been in drink. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 30 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 

And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet — 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 35 

He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 40 



EPISTLE TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 

My honoured Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 



172 SELECTIONS FROM BURXS. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain and care and sickness spare it; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve : lo 

And ay a rowth, roast beef and claret ; 

Syne wha wad starve? 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her, 
O! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 15 

I 've found her still. 
Aye wav'ring like the willow-wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons by a ratton, 20 

Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on, 

He 's aff like fire. 

Ah Nick! ah Nick! it isna fair, 25 

First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wine and bonie lasses rare. 

To put us daft; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 3° 

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by, 

An' aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, 

Thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi' joy, 

And hellish pleasure, — 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 35 

Thy sicker treasure. 



(9, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 173 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girnin laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 40 

As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel, 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 45 

I quat my pen: 
The Lord preserve us frae the Devil ! 

Amen! amen! 



O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast. 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 5 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw. 
Thy beild should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 10 

The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown 15 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



174 SELECTIONS FROM BURNS. 



FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. 

Chorus. — Fairest maid on Devon banks, 

Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou wert wont to do? 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 5 

Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
O, did not Love exclaim, *' Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so " .^ 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 

Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; lo 

And by thy beauteous self I swear. 

No love but thine my heart shall know. 



NOTES 



BuRNs's earliest poetical efforts were love songs. They represent 
actual passages of his life, and they were generally composed to the 
humming of a melody. Hence, from the first his work has that air of 
reality and truth which is its most distinctive characteristic, and his 
songs, in particular, possess that ' singing ' quality which marks them 
above those of every other song writer. 



O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY (1776). 

Air, *■ Invercatdd''s Reel.'' 

'This song I composed about the age of seventeen.' — B. The record 
of Burns's loves is more diversified than even Goethe's. ' Sometimes,' 
he says, ' I was received with favor, and sometimes mortified with a 
repulse.' Tibbie was one of those who mortified him, and the touch 
of temper is just enough to add sprightliness. Combined with this 
there is a note of jealousy against riches and social superiority which 
later becomes a familiar strain. The lively measure of the reel is well 
marked. 

1 1. Tibbie : Scotch for Isabella. 
1 2. wad na been : for the idiom, see Gram. Introd. 
1 4. care na by : * care not for that ' ; cf. obs. Eng. use of ' let by,* 
e.g., * Clothed as a loller, and lytel y-lete by,' i.e., * thought of {Piers 

Pl0W77ia7l). 

1 6. like stoure : ' Hke the wind ' ; stotire = dry dust. 

2 22. brier: pron. 'breer.' 

2 25. tak my advice : 'take my word for it'; cf. obs. Eng. use of 
advice = opinion. 

2 27. spier your price : * make a bid for you,' * ask your hand.' The 
phrase, idiomatic for ' signify a desire to have,' is commonly used with 
a negative, = ' have no use for.' 



176 NOTES. 



MARY MORISON (1781). 

This is the fifteenth number in Mr. Scott Douglas's edition, and 
all before it are love songs. The subject was a servant girl whom 
Burns seriously desired to marry, to whom he wrote the earliest of his 
preserved letters, and whose charms he had already sung, — Ellison 
Begbie, Bonie Peggie Alison, the Lass on Cessnock Banks. Handsome 
Nell (see^/. Mrs. S.), Montgomerie's Peggie, Annie of the Barley Riggs, 
and others successively touched the tinder of his heart ; but to Ellison 
Begbie he proposed marriage. She refused his offer — Burns himself 
says 'jilted' him — but did not break his heart. The elasticity of his 
temper was no less remarkable than the variety of his moods and the 
violence of their revulsions. 

In sending the song to Thomson (March 20, 1793) he apologized for 
its juvenility and said he 'did not think it remarkable for either its 
merits or demerits.' The poet was an erratic judge of his own work. 
This lyric (not strictly to be called juvenile, as he had reached the 
capable age of twenty-two) contains one of the finest pieces of suggestive 
idealization in literature, and it shows also that the poet had reached 
his full, rich note of pure song. 

2 1. As originally printed the song began at ' Yestreen.' 

2 2. stoure : see Vocab. ; it is not 'dust ' here. 

2 9. See introd. note to this song. The ' lighted ha' ' was a barn 
with a clay floor, rough stone walls, and exposed rafters covered with 
dirt and cobwebs, lighted with a few guttering tallow dips stuck in bits 
of wood; planks raised on logs against the walls offered seats; and the 
' trembling string ' — worthy of a royal minstrel in a palace — was that 
of the rustic amateur fiddler in the corner. 

2 13. braw : here ==' finely dressed.' 

3 23. The same sentiment occurs in the first of his letters to Ellison 
Begbie. 



A PRAYER (1781). 

The date is Mr. Scott Douglas's. The poem appears in his Co7nm. PI. 
Bk. under August, 1784, with an entry that points back two or three 
years. 



NOTES. Ill 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE 

(1782, Spring). 

The incident was genuine. One day, as Burns and his brother were 
going out with their teams at noon, Hugh Wilson, a neighbor herdboy, 
' an odd, glowrin, gapin callan, about three-fourths wise,' came running 
to tell them what had happened to Mailie. The ewe was soon released, 
but the ludicrous side of Hughoc's alarm and appearance touched the 
poet's fancy, and at the plow during the afternoon he composed this 
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral. The humor, though slighter, has 
already something of the rich ethical flavor of The Twa Dogs, and here 
the sympathetic self-identification with the brute in her point of view is 
equally tender and more playful. Burns had in mind Hamilton of Gil- 
bertfield's Dying Words of Bonny Heck, a Famous Greyhound. 

4 2. Was : Burns originally wrote were. Only Mailie was on the 
tether, but the form 'was ' would be legitimate Scots grammar in either 
case; cf. the ballad There Was Three Ivi7igs mto the East. 

4 6. Hughoc : the dimin. -oc (cf. Eng. -ock in hillock) is an alternative 
ioX'ie ; e.g., lassoc, lassie ; Davoc, Davie. Sometimes the two are united, 
as in Dr. Geddes's song, — 

' There was a wee bit wifikie was comin frae the fair 
Had gotten a bit drappikie that bred her muckle care.' 

4 7-11. Gilbert Burns tells us his brother 'was much tickled with 
Hughoc's appearance and postures ' ; Mailie sustains the humor in 1. 13. 

4 17. keep : Burns already had a poet's contempt for ' gear- 
gathering,' which Mailie quite understands. 

5 28, 32. them, themsel : see Gram. Introd. 

5 38. stocks 0^ kail : heads of cabbage, or ' cabbage-stocks.' 
5 45. beast : i.e., full-grown. 

5 49-56. The advice is that of a ' douce ' Scottish mother to her chil- 
dren as to the company they should keep. 

6 51. silly: the epithet is Homeric applied to sheep. 
6 64. thou 'se : see Gram. Introd. 

6 64. blether : the gift was one highly prized by the country urchin ; 
hence the droll dignity of the bequest. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

As this poem does not occur in the Comm. PI. Bk. immediately after 
the preceding, the date is probably somewhat later. The verse form is 



178 NOTES. ^ 

that introduced by Robert Sempill in his Life ajid Death of Habbie 
Sivipsoji., the Piper of Kilbarchaii, about the middle of the 17th century. 
It was adopted by Ramsay and Fergusson, and by them passed on to 
Burns. 

The poet w^j' have drawn suggestions from The Pipe}- of Kilba7-cha7t, 
but he certainly had in mind The Ezuie wi^ the Ci-ookit Honi^ by the 
Rev. John Skinner. In this year, 1782, Skinner was alive and sixty-one 
years of age ; Burns afterwards made his acquaintance by letter, but 
they never met. 

6 6. Mailie 's dead : Burns uses the same stanza for elegiac pur- 
poses, both serious and comic, in the Elegy 01 Captain Henderson and 
Tarn Samson V Dead ; in the latter the refrain is employed as here. 

7 Ql. I 41 say 't : formula of solemn affirmation. Cf. Mailie's dying 
words, 11. 35-3S. 

7 29. pearls : the roll of the r makes a dissyllable. 

7 34. Frae yont the Tweed : English wool had an historic renown 
from Plantagenet times, when the exportation of sheep was by law pro- 
hibited. 

7 37. Wae worth : sorrow befall. Wae is a noun ; man is a dative ; 
for worth, see Vocab. Cf. Scott's 

' Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day.' 

Lady of the Lake, I. 9. 

8 43. a' ye Bards : there are several echoes of Skinner's poem 
throughout, but the resemblance is clear in the last stanza of both, — 

' But thus, poor thing, to lose her life 
Aneath a bleedy villain's knife ! 
I 'm really fley "t that our guidwife 

Will never win aboon "t ava : 
O a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn, 
Call your muses up an' mourn 
Our ewie wi" the crookit horn 

Stown frae 's an fell 't an' a'.' 

It maybe noted that ' bonie Doon ' and Ayr had as yet no bards. As 
late as 1785 Burns had still to lament the fact. See Ep. W. ^., 47. 



MY NAXIE, O (1782). 

This, too. Bums ingenuously writes in his CoiniJi. PI. Bk., was at the 
time real. The virginal sweetness of the emotion is likewise to be ob- 
served. 



NOTES. 179 

8 1. Lugar : only as late as 1792, Oct. 26, Burns suggested this 
name, or Girvan, as a substitute for the cacophonous actual name of 
the stream, Stinchar. 

8 4. Nanie : Scotch for Agnes. She has been identified as Agnes 
Fleming, but she need not have been called Nanie at all ; cf. Peggie 
Alison. 

8 7. plaid : the highland substitute for overcoat. It is wound about 
the chest and shoulders, and its length, about four yards, makes it a 
convenient wrap for two. Cf. Hector Macneill's song. Come under my 
Plaidie. 

8 8. hill : the Carrick hills, west of Lochlea. 

9 21. These circumstances are imaginary: Burns never worked 
under any master except his father. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES (1783, Summer). 

This song is created out of an old snatch of the same name. It is 
the earliest of those rifacimeitti whose importance is twofold : they 
show how keen and true was the singer's instinct in Burns, and they 
reveal the extent of the debt under which he has laid the literature of 
song. (See Gen. Introd.) 

For all its lightness and h'usqicerie^ the song embodies the poet's 
serious conviction, as his letters repeatedly show. In his Comm. PL Bk. 
(August, 1784) the verses are given as 'the genuine language of my 
heart '; and, writing of this period to Dr. Moore (Aug. 2, 1787), he says: 
'■Vive Pamoiir et vive la bagatelle were my sole principles of action.' 

This was after his sojourn in Irvine, where he got that copy of Fer- 
gusson's poems which made him 'string his lyre with emulating vigor.' 

10 19, 20. Burns, though not bred a Puritan, was remarkably well 
read in the Bible, and took delight in making scriptural allusions ; see 
notes to C. S. M, To the D., H. F., etc. 

10 21-24. This stanza was added later. The conceit is old. Steele 
uses it in his Christian Hero (1701) : 'He (Adam) saw a creature who 
had, as it were, heaven's second thought in her formation.' It occurs 
earlier, in Cupid ^s Whirligig, a comedy published in 1607: 'Since we 
were made before you [women], should we not admire you as the last 
and therefore perfect work of nature ? Man was made when Nature 
was but an apprentice, but woman when she was a skilful mistress of 
her art.' This passage was copied into a book not scarce in Burns's 



180 NOTES. 

day, — The British Miise^ a Collection of Thoughts^ by Thomas Hey- 
wood, Ge7tt.f 4 vols., London, 1738. 

During 1783 came the collapse of his father's affairs and another dis- 
tressing circumstance in the poet's life. His father died in February, 
1784, 'just saved from a jail by phthisical consumption.' Soon after, 
Burns wrote Man was Made to Motirn^ in which he records the indig- 
nant protest of poverty against wealth and social injustice, for with him 
these two are nearly synonymous. At the same time he took up the 
subject from a humorous point of view in his letter to Davie, a ' Brother- 
poet, Lover, Ploughman, and Fiddler.' 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE (1784; Completed January, 1785). 

Gilbert Burns states that in the summer of 1784, while he and his 
brother were weeding in the ' kailyard,' Robert recited the greater part 
of this epistle; and he believes that the idea of Robert's becoming an 
author was started on that occasion. He was already inspired by Fer- 
gusson, and was looking to poetry as a serious vocation, but he had not 
yet thought of publishing. 

Man was Made to Moui-n and this poem are to each other as obverse 
and reverse; the former serious and English, the latter humorous and 
Scotch ; in the former ' man's inhumanity to man makes countless 
thousands mourn,' and the spirit of independence frets against social 
fetters ; in the latter the poet, though at times he cannot help being 
sour, finds consolation at every turn, even in the prospect of a release 
offered in beggardom. 

Davie Sillar, to whom the epistle is addressed, has no claim on pos- 
terity beyond this recognition of him, though he, too, published a 
volume of poems at Kilmarnock. 

The stanza, which, in spite of its awkward form. Burns appears to have 
mastered at the first effort, is supposed to have been invented by Alex- 
ander Montgomerie in The Banks of Helicon^ and is that employed by 
Allan Ramsay in The Vision. 

10 1. winds, etc.: so M.M.M. begins, — 

' When chill November's surly blast.' 

10 6. westlin jingle : the Ayrshire dialect has peculiarities, but more 
of accent than vocabulary. Some are noted in the Vocab. 



NOTES. 181 

10 9. gift : what is given to them. For the sentiment, cf. M. M. M.^ — 

' Where hundreds labour to support 
A haughty lordling's pride.' 

11 15. a body's : this is the regular Scotch indefinite, = ' one ' ; e.g., 

' Gin a body meet a body.' 

11 25. Burns notes this line as borrowed from Ramsay. It is from 
the Response of the 07'acle to the Poet's Wish^ — 

' Mair speir na and flir na, 
But set thy mind at rest.' 

11 28. to beg: see Scott's introd. to The Antiquary^ and the charac- 
ter of Edie Ochiltree ; Scott believed that Burns may have looked for- 
ward to the possibility of becoming a 'bluegown,' and Burns, in a letter 
to Charles Sharpe (i\pril 22, 1791), assumes that character over the 
signature ' Johnny Faa.' 

11 29. kilns : for making malt, in days when people brewed their 
own ale. 

11 29 ff. Vagabondage and Bohemianism had a charm for Bums, 
as they had for Shakspere; the genius that conjured up the scenes in 
Eastcheap had his compeer in the creator of the revelry that ' sheuk the 
kebars ' at Poosie Nansie's. 

11 39-42. Cf. the poet's second song in The Jolly Beggars^ — 

' Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 
Who have characters to lose.' 

12 43-56. The spirit of this beautiful stanza is strikingly reproduced 
by Jean Richepin in the idyllic portion of his Chansojt des Gueux. The 
process described in 11. 54-56 is that followed by Burns in the composi- 
tion of his songs. See his letter to Thomson, September, 1793; ^^^ 
cf. Gen. Introd., p. xlvi. ff. 

12 57-59. Cf. Gala Water, 13, 14, p. 162. 

12 60. making muckle, mair : ' making much grow to be more.' 

12 71. With this stanza cf. The T Z>., 71-100, p. TZ- 

13 90. An *s : ' and am.' See Gram. Introd. 

13 92. ' No one has morahsed better on the " uses of adversity " than 
Burns; few so finely as when he says misfortunes " let us ken oursel." ' 
' — Professor Nichol, Introd. to Mr. Scott Douglas's ed., vol. i. 

J3 102. I : a mere sacrifice to rhyme; not a Scotch idiom. 



182 NOTES. 

14 108. Jean : Jean Armour, afterwards his wife. She was the 
daughter of a builder in the neighboring town of MauchUne, and socially 
rather above the poet. He first met her in April or May of this year, 
and passion sprang full-grown between them. The impetuosity of the 
poet's emotions renders it unnecessary to adopt any theory involving a 
later date for these ardent references to Jean. The fact stands that 
when Burns saw Jean he had seen his fate. 

14 130. world's : dissyll. on account of rolled r. 

14 138. tenebrific : one of his few bombastic words ; cf. ter7'aefilial^ 
f rater-feelings and a few more. 

15 145. As : ' as if.' 

15 147. Pegasus has for Burns all the reality of Jenny Geddes; cf. 
Ep. to Willie Chalmers, i-S, — 

' Wi braw new branks an' muckle pride, 
An' eke a braw new brechan, 
My Pegasus I 'm got astride 
An' up Parnassus pechin,' etc. 



RANTIN ROVIN ROBIN (probably early in 1785). 

Burns was now fired with the ambition to become a poet, and hence- 
forth poetry was his only successful undertaking. 

This song was composed to the air ''Dainty Davie, ^ and there is ex- 
tant in Burns's handwriting the following opening : 

' There was a birkie born in Kyle, 
But whatna day o' whatna style, 
I doubt it 's hardly worth my w^hile 
To be sae nice wi' Davie. 
Leeze me on thy curly pow, 

Bonie Davie, dainty Davie ; 
Leeze me on thy curly pow, 
Thou 's aye my dainty Davie.' 

15 1. Kyle : the districts of Ayrshire were Cunningham, north of 
the Irvine ; Kyle, between the Irvine and the Doon ; Carrick, south of 
the Doon. From Kyle he names his muse Coila. 

15 2. style: for some time after the change in the calendar (1751) 
dates were reckoned according to both ' old style ' and ' new style.' 

15 6. rantin, rovin : almost the same combination occurs in The 
Twa Dogs, 24, p. 72; the third Ep. to Lapraik is signed Rab the Ranter; 
the words imply a jovial and Bohemian disposition. 



NOTES. 183 

15 9. Our monarch's . . . begun: George II; Jan. 25, 1759. 

16 13. gossip : sponsor in baptism. Tradition has it that an itin- 
erant 'spaewife ' uttered prophecies on the child's future, and there may 
have been palmistry, such practice being common. 

16 20. The words were prophetic, but Burns was by no means blown 
up with anticipated fame. His self-judgment was remarkably keen, and 
at all times he rather underestimated than overestimated his powers. 

16 26. The following stanza is found with variations in some edi- 
tions. This version is taken from the second Comin. PL Bk, 

* Guid faith,' quo' scho, ' I doubt you, Stir, 
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar ; 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur — 
So blessins on thee, Robin ! ' 



TO THE DEIL. 

Gilbert Burns states that Robert recited this poem to him during the 
winter after the Ep. to Davie. He heard the latter during the summer 
of 1784, and therefore the present poem is consigned to the winter of 
1784-5. He may have altered and improved it later. 

Originating in a humorous freak as he ran over ' the many ludicrous 
accounts we have of this august personage,' this poem, so realistic as to 
make us believe in this devil, and so familiarly tender as to make us 
love him, with its variety of contrasts, its daring combination of banter 
and awe, familiarity and respect, indignation and compassion, with its 
rich play of fancy and observation woven into a warp of humanity and 
supernaturalism, is one of the most remarkable compositions in litera- 
ture. The theological element belongs to Scotch Calvinism ; the 
legendary to northern folklore and to medieval superstition. 

16 1. Othou: Burns, like Byron, curiously had a great regard for 
the chief of the school whose overthrow his own work proclaimed. 
Here he adapts Pope's apostrophe to Swift, — 

'- O thou, whatever title please thine ear, 
Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver.' 

DM7tciady I. 

16 2. Hornie . . . cavern . . . brunstane : the conception of a 
horned devil in a fiery cavern torturing the damned is a product of 
medieval Christianity, and was a prominent feature of the Miracle 



184 NOTES. 

Plays. It still lingers in Scotland in a modified form. For the picture, 
cf. Holy Fah% 190, p. 41 : 

' A vast unbottom'd boundless pit, 

Filled fou o' lowin brunstane,' etc. 

16 5. cootie : Satan has a foot pail for the purpose of basting his 
victims with liquid brimstone. The humor of Spairges cannot be 
expressed in English. 

17 19. roarin lion : I Peter, v, 8. 

17 21. tempest: Ephesians, ii, 2. The storm is congenial to the 
Prince of the Powers of the Air; see also below, 11. 49-5-, and cf. 
Tai?t O' Shantei', 73-?^} P- I47- 

17 22. kirks: it was part of the devil's business to unroof these; 
ruined churches were favorite haunts of his; cf. Kirk Alloway. 

17 25-30. This touch of pathos in the deil's romantic love of soli- 
tude finds its full expression at the close of the poem. 

17 33-42. bummin . . . rash-buss . . . drake : the humorist re- 
verses the situation. It might have been a droning beetle, etc., but it 
was the deil. 

IS 55-60. There are two pieces of witchcraft here, — the bewitching 
of the churn and that of the cow. Both superstitions still linger in 
Scotland and in Scandinavia, and various charms are employed to re- 
move the spell. — twal-pint : giving twelve pints (Scotch) of milk, or 
three gallons at a 'milking.' 

18 69. water-kelpies: see Gen. Introd., §§ I and VI (d). The 
kelpie usually took the form of a black horse, and, inducing travellers 
to mount him, plunged with them into a pool. See Folk-lore of the 
A^ortheast of Scotland, pp. 66, 6y (Rev. W. Gregor, F.L.S., 18S1). 

19 73. spunkies : see Vocab. Cf. B. A., 51, p. iii. 

19 79. masons': Burns was an ardent freemason. He wrote poems 
to the brethren, signed his name with a masonic mark, spoke of him- 
self as a ' mason-maker,' and was at all times ready for masonic con- 
viviality. 

19 85. This stanza originally ran : 

' Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
When strappin Adam's days were green 
And Eve was like my bonie Jean, 

IVI}' dearest part, 
A dancin, sweet, young handsome quean, 
O' guileless heart.' 



NOTES. 185 

This is quite in the strain of Ep. D.^ io8, etc., p. 14. But before the 
Kilmarnock edition appeared the Armour parents had loosed upon 
him the ' dogs of the law ' ; hence the alteration. Cf . the similar altera- 
tion in The F., 63, p. %']. 'Eden's bonie yard' is a reminiscence of 
Fergusson's Caller Water ^ — 

* When Father Adie first put spade in 
The bonie yard o' ancient Eden.' 

19 92. Paradise: Genesis, iii, i. The identity of the serpent with 
Satan is an essential part of Scotch theology. 

19 97. that day : Job, i. 

20 111. Michael : Burns gives the reference to Milton {^Par. Lost^ 
vi, 325) where the sword of Michael 

' deep-entering, shared 
All his right side ; then Satan first knew pain.' 

20 113. Lallan . . . Erse : ' Lowland . . . Highland.' Erse is 
properly Irish as distinct from Scotch Gaelic. 

20 115. auld Cloots : 'old Cloven-feet': cf. 1. 2. He preserves the 
familiarity, but softens it almost to fondness in the next stanza. 

20 122. tak a thought : regular Scotch idiom for ' reflect.' 

20 125. den: cf. ' Crookie-den,' a name for hell ; as in the song, — 

' 1 hae been to Crookie-den, 

Bonie laddie, Highland laddie.' 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK (1785, ' Seedtime'). 

The subject was John Wilson, schoolmaster and grocer in Tarbolton, 
who, having become ' hobby-horsically attached to the study of medicine,' 
added drugs to his store and offered advice gratis. At a masonic 
meeting, when Burns was present, he made such a parade of medical 
knowledge that Burns determined to ' nail the self -conceited sot as 
dead's a herrin.' The poem, like Ta7j7 6>' Shajtter^ was written at a 
heat, and, when it circulated, Wilson had to shut shop and school and 
quit the district. But its breadth of elaboration, richness of descriptive 
detail, and grotesque supernaturalism lift it far beyond the character of 
an occasional satire. 

Dr. Hornbook : the title is meant to suggest the puerile character of 
the ' doctor's' knowledge. Children's reading primers used to be called 
* hornbooks ' from the covering of 'translucent horn' that protected the 
letters. See Cowper, Tirocinium^ 119, 120. 



186 NOTES. 

21 5. Var. * Great lies and nonsense baith to vend.' 
21 13, The role of inebriate, which is purely dramatic, is so success- 
ful that even Wordsworth enjoyed it. For the general subject in 
Burns's life, see Introd. to Sc, D7\ 

21 20. Cumnock hills : southeast of Tarbolton. Burns gives local 
particulars without invention; so ' Willie's mill,' below. 

22 33. scythe : Burns had in mind the allegorical figure of Time. 
Death is commonly represented as a skeleton, but this figure, though 
little more than skin and bone, has a beard, and flesh on his hips 
11. 41, 60, 84. 

22 37. Scotch ells twa : 6 ft. 2 in. See T. S., 84, note. 

22 44. sawin : ' This rencontre happened in seedtime.' — B. 

22 47. whare ye gaun : the rapid colloquial utterance causes the 
blending of luhare and arc. Frequently, too, the r drops out of the 
pronunciation of are before ive andjj'^, — 'a'e we,' *a'e ye.' 

23 57 f. kittle to be mislear'd : the meaning of this passage is 
doubtful. 'Misleared' means ill-taught,' hence, 'unmannerly, mis- 
chievous'; ' kittle ' = ' ticklish.' Thus the whole phrase probably 
means, 'I should be a ticklish person to deal with if I became mis- 
chievous.' 

23 62. gie ^s : give us. 

23 65. This while : for some time past. There is reference to an 
epidemic then raging in the district. 

23 73. sax thousand : from the Creation, B.C. 4004. 

23 80. in : into ; ' may the devil make a tobacco-pouch of his second 
stomach.' 

23 81. Buchan : ' Buchan's Domestic Medicine.^ — B. 

24 95. play'd dirl : struck sharp and quivered without penetrating. 
This is a common, graphic use of ' play.' Cf. To the U. G., 8, p. 92 : 
* An' still the clap plays clatter.' Note that the pronunciation of r 
gives dirl two syllables. 

25 133. Johnie Ged^s Hole : the grave. Cf. ' Davie Jones' Locker ' ; 
Johnie Ged is here humorously taken for the parish gravedigger. 

25 135. calf-ward : the churchyard had been used by Johnie as a 
calf pasture; now that every one was getting cured it would be 
plowed up. Johnie would thus find both his pasture and his occupa- 
tion gone. 

25 140. plough: note the spelling and pronunciation. Inl. I3iitwas 
plew (ploo) ; here it is guttural, rhyming with eneiigh^ shengh. 

25 144. twa-three : the same law holds here as in whare ye gaun 
(1. 47). A further attrition makes it tworree. 



NOTES. 187 

25 145. strae-death : i.e., natural death in bed, referring to the olden- 
time beds of straw. 

26 151. honest wabster to his trade : honest (cf. konesttis) ^respec- 
table. The line is condensed, = ' A respectable man, a weaver,' etc. 

26 152. She used her fists too freely on her husband, who profited by 
her headache to get Hornbook to cure her. In the same way the 
young laird gets rid of his father. 

26 169-174. Where Hornbook kills, the killing is murder ; and where 
he cures, the cure is cheating Death. 

27 183. wee short hour ayont the twal has now become a current 
phrase for the stroke of one o'clock. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK (1785, April i). 

John Lapraik was a neighbor farmer, ' a very worthy, facetious old 
fellow.' He, too, published poems, but, like Davie's, his only fame is 
that given him by Burns. The song which was the occasion of this 
epistle was one which Lapraik had ' borrowed ' from the Weekly Maga- 
zine, or EdmbiLvgh A?ntisement (Oct. 14, 1773), and slightly altered into 
Scotch. Burns never knew of the plagiarism. 

27 1. This is ' Aprille with his shoures sote.' Cf. Chancer, F7'ol. i. 

27 7. Fasten-e'en: Shrovetide. — rockin: before the days of the 
spinning wheel, women used to carry their rocks or distaffs with them 
when they went visiting. By and by the original signification disappeared, 
and the phrase w^as used indiscriminately by men and women ; a rocki7t 
became a social gathering, with singing and other amusements, to which 
the women brought their knitting (1. 8). 

27 8. ca' the crack : keep the conversation going. 

27 11 f. yokin at sang-about : set-to at singing songs in turn. 

27 13. ae sang : see note above. Burns liked it so well that he had 
it printed in Johnson's Mttseiim. 

28 21. Pope, etc. : notice the men whom he cites. The original 
had been in English, and it seems as if Burns almost looked through the 
fraud of Lapraik's Scotch. James Beattie (i 735-1803) was a leading 
name in the fashionable Scotch-English school of Burns's day, professor 
of ethics and logic in Aberdeen, and author of an Essay on Ti^uth 
(1770), and The Minstrel ; or, The Progress of Getiins, a poem in the 
Spenserian stanza (177 1-4). His collected works were published in 
Philadelphia in ten volumes, 1809. 



188 NOTES. 

28 23. odd kin' chiel : odd kind of a fellow. See Gram. Introd. 

28 .31. That, set him : imperat. used as condit. ' That, if you put 
him,' etc. 

28 35. Inverness : then the northern Hmit of Scotch civiHzation. 

28 39. cadger pownie's death : a picturesquely exaggerated way of 
saying he would think no exertion too great to go to see him. Fish- 
cadgers' ponies are notoriously overdriven. 

28 41. pint an' gill : pint of ale and gill of whisky, an old-fashioned 
Scotch treat for two. For them, see Gram. Introd. 

29 50. like: ' as it were,' interjectional. 

29 60. maybe: in Scotch, an adv. = perhaps; 'are 'is not redun- 
dant. 

29 65. ye 'd better taen: you had better have taken; see Gram. 
Introd. 

29 66. knappin-hammers : or taken to breaking road metal. 

29 67-72. With occasional misgivings, as in his Kilmarnock preface, 
this contempt for academic learning was his confirmed opinion. 

30 79, 80. Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson ; see Gen. Introd., 
pp. xxv-xxix. 

30 103. Mauchline . . . Fair : celebrated on the road near Mossgiel. 

31 109. four-gill chap: the mutchkin measure; it is of pewter, and 
has a lid; hence the clatter. Whisky is meant, and 'toddy' is to be 
brewed. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMSON (1785, May). 

Burns's first theological satire, T/ie Twa He^'ds; ^r. The Holy Tidzie^ 
had already circulated in MS., and met with roars of applause. A copy 
reached William Simson, schoolmaster and poet, who addressed an 
epistle to Burns. The latter replied in this poem, which is not only in- 
tensely patriotic, but intensely local in its patriotism. 

32 2. brawlie : heartily; for this rare use, cf. The DeiVs Awa, it, 
p. 156,— 

' An' mony braw thanks to the muckle black deil.' 

A popular Norwegian use of bra corresponds. 

32 13. Proverbial. = I would show I had completely lost my head. 

32 15. Gilbertfield : William Hamilton of Gilbertfield. See Gen. 
Introd., p. xxiv. 



NOTES. 189 

32 17. writer-chiel : ' writer ' is Scotch for attorney or lawyer. 
Fergusson worked in a law office in Edinburgh (1. 21). See Gen. 
Introd., p. xxviii. 

32 27. dead : a noun, = ' death.' 
2>Z 30. ease : see The V., 1 50, note. 

'^Z 31. Coila : see Raiitin Rovin RobiJi, i, and The F!, 109, notes. 
2>2> 32. poets : Davie Sillar, Lapraik, Simson, and himself. 

33 43 ff. Cf. with this the entry in his Conun. PI. Bk. for August, 
1784 (.^) (lVo?'hs, vol. iii, p. 91) : ' However I am pleased with the works 
of our Scotch poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay and the still more 
excellent Fergusson, yet I am hurt to see other places of Scotland . . . 
immortalized in such celebrated performances, whilst my dear native 
country, the ancient . . . , famous . . . , a country where . . . , the birth- 
place of ... , the scene of . . . , particularly the actions of the glorious 
Wallace, the saviour of his country; yet we have never had one 
Scotch poet of any eminence to make the fertile banks of Irvine, the 
romantic woodlands and sequestered scenes on Aire, and the healthy 
mountainous source and winding sweep of Doon emulate Tay, Forth, 
Ettrick, Tweed, etc' Mr. Scott Douglas arbitrarily places the above 
passage under the year 1785; Burns gives the month August. More 
probably it was WTitten in August, 1784, and used, according to his 
practice (cf. To the U. G.y introd. and note, and C. S. JV., 1. 64, note), in 
the composition of the poem instead of conversely. 

Z2> 58. Wallace : type of the Scottish patriot and liberator before 
Bruce. By treachery he fell into the hands of the English, was taken 
to London and hanged, draw^n, and quartered. In his boyhood Burns 
made a pilgrimage to the Leglen Wood, a haunt of Wallace, and 
'explored every den and dell.' Blind Harry, the minstrel, wrote an 
exaggerated account of his adventures in rude rhyme, entitled ' Ye Actis 
and Deidis of y^ Ilhister and Vailzeand Champioun, Schi?- William Wal- 
lace' (ed. by Dr. Jamieson, 40, Edin., 1820). Cf. Gen. Introd., p. xxxix, 
and see Scott's Tales of a GraJidfather, ch. vii. 

34 65. red-wat-shod : ' wat-shod ' is an old compound, ' with wet 
feet ' ; the ' red ' added by Burns is all the more terrible from being 
merely suggestive. 

34 73. ev^n winter: see his poems A. W. N., p. 117, and Winter, 
a Di7'ge. He loved to describe winter, not more for graphic effect than 
for the suggestions of humanity it stirred. 

34 75. Ochiltree: ontheLugar; Simson was schoolmaster there. 

34 85. The Muse: cf. The V., 211-228, p. 90. 

34 88. think lang : ' feel the time heavy ' ; usually with a negative. 



190 NOTES. 

35 95. grumbling hive : Burns may have read Bernard Mandeville's 

Fable of the Bees ; or, The Grumbling Hive of Knaves turned Honest. 

35 103. tolls and taxes : these were pet aversions of the high- 
landers. The former were satirized in a comic ballad just before Burns's 
day, the Tiirjiiiigpike (turnpike). Tolls were universal on the highways 
of Scotland until recent years. 

There is a long postscript to this epistle in which the quarrel of the 
Auld and New Lichts is humorously disposed of as a squabble about 
the old and the new moon, a ' moonshine matter.' It was not so, and 
the quarrel was soon to draw from Burns some of his heaviest shot. 
The Auld Lichts were those who held firmly to the Westminster Con- 
fession of Faith and the theology of Calvin ; the New Lichts w^ere the 
* moderates,' who admitted humane culture and a kindlier creed. 



THE HOLY FAIR (17S5; probably August). 

There is no longer any doubt that this poem belongs to 1785; the 
discovery of the poet's later Com??i. PL Bk. has settled the point. ^ 

In several places this poem touches Ep. McM., which more probably 
echoes this poem than conversely (see Ep. McM., p. 43, and notes). 
The poem, moreover, is manifestly the result of fresh inspiration, and 
the Holy Fair of Mauchline was then held in August. The stanza 
beginning ' Leeze me on Drink ! ' is evidently the germ of Sc. Dr., and 
not a reminiscence of that poem. 

A Holy Fair was a kind of cross between an old Catholic festival and 
a Methodist camp meeting. It was held for the celebration of the 
Lord's Supper and the conversion of souls. Burns had no particle of 
reverence for this kind of religion, but his descriptive details are not 
distorted ; they are true to fact, and therein lies the sting of the satire. 
When plowmen engaged themselves to a master they used to stipulate 
that they should be allowed to attend so many fairs or so many sacra- 
ments during the year ; a fair and a sacrament being thus to them 
practically identical, they used to behave at the one as they did at the 
other. To find anything like this poem, we must go back to Dunbar 
and Lindsay. 

' Holy Fair ' being a common phrase for a sacramental occasion, 
there is no need to suppose the title borrowed from Fergusson's Hallow 

1 Mr. Scott Douglas gives this Comm. PL Bk. in an appendix to vol. vi, but 
in vol. iii he strangely places The Holy Fair under 1786, and feels 'bound to 
regard it as later than February.' 



NOTES. 191 

Fai7\ Both plan and metre of the poem, however, are taken from that 
poet's Leith Races. Burns had been studying Fergusson since 1782, so 
that his request of February, 1786, that his friend Richmond should 
send him a copy of Fergusson 's poems is of no account in fixing the 
date. He may, however, have improved the poem later. 
36 1. Cf. P^ergusson's opening, — 

' In July month, ae bonie morn, 
When Nature's rokelay green 
Was spread owre ilka rig o' corn 
To charm our rovin een.' 

36 5. Galston : next parish north of Mauchline. Burns neverseeks 
to disguise locahties. Cf. D. and Dr, H., 20, p. 21. 
36 10. Fergusson has 

' Glowrin about I saw a quean 
The fairest neath the lift.' 

36 15. lyart linin : the garb of Hypocrisy. 

36 23. The third : Burns appears to follow Fergusson here quite 
closely ; compare the two for a study in true ' originality.' 

37 37. my name is Fun : 'They ca' me Mirth.' — Fergusson. 
37 50. crowdie-time : here = 'breakfast-time' ; see 1. 229. 

37 57. braw braid-claith : it is stiii a point of etiquette among the 
country people in Scotland to have a ' stand o' Sabbath claes.' 

37 59. barefit : a country custom, practiced as much to ease the 
feet as to save the fine shoes. 

37 61. cheese . . . farls : the lasses took lunch with them and 
treated the lads during intervals. Cf. 11. 217-225. 

37 64 by the plate : observe the local details. The fair was held 
in the churchyard, which in country parishes alw^ays surrounds the 
church, and is itself enclosed by a stone wall ; the ' plate,' a large pewter 
vessel usually set at the church door to receive the * collection,' is here 
placed by the churchyard gate. They were about to pass (' gae by ') the 
plate. 

37 66. Black Bonnet : the ' elder ' who stood beside the plate com- 
monly wore a John K^nox bonnet. 

37 67. tippence : i.e., a penny each ; the satirist treats the whole 
affair as a penny ' show ' (1. 68). 

38 75. Racer Jess : the long-limbed, half-witted daughter of Poosie 
Nansie oi Jolly Beggars. 

38 81. fun: the 'fun' is heightened by the fact that the 'black 
guards ' must have come ten miles to enjoy it. Kilmarnock is a weav- 
ing town about ten miles from Mauchline. 



192 NOTES. 

Z'^ 86. chosen swatch : the Unco Guid, who were soon to receive 
their own special castigation. 

38 91. happy, etc. : Psalm cxlvi, 5. This stanza was extravagantly 
praised by Hogg, the ' Ettrick Shepherd.' 

39 102. Moodie : one of the Twa Herds of the H. T. He and all 
the others mentioned later were clergymen of the district ; Burns did 
with men as he did with places (see 1. 5, note). 

39 103. damnation : ' salvation ' in the Kilmarnock edition. The 
change was suggested by Dr. Hugh Blair, of ' Rhetoric ' fame. 

39 105. 'Mang sons 0^ God : Job, i, 6. Cf. To the D., 97, p. 19. 
. 39 107. Van: 

' Aff straucht to hell had sent him 
Fast, fast that day.' 

39 120. real judges: the ' Auld Licht' evangelicals; disgusted with 
mere moral preaching, they go off to have a different kind of spiritual 
refreshment. 

40 131. Antonine : Marcus Aurelius, of the Meditations. 
40 134. faith in : the grammar is forced to suit the rhyme. 

40 138. water-fit : ' foot of the water,' mouth of the river. Newton- 
on-Ayr is meant. 

40 142. Common Sense : merely a personification here, though Dr. 
Mackenzie, of Mauchline, one of the ' New Lichts,' wrote under this 
nom de plume. The reference is to common sense in matters of dogma, 
or to the * New^ Licht ' party. 

40 143. Cowgate : the street facing the exit from the churchyard. 

40 152. Like hafQins-wise : 'like,' '-lins,' and 'wise' all have the 
same force, — 'as it were,' 'in a manner,' 'after a fashion.' 

40 154. change-house : the tavern, formerly an almost universal 
annex to the kirk in rural Scotland. 

41 163. Leeze me, etc.: see introd. note. It is very improbable that 
Burns would have inserted such a digression «/?t'rhe had written Sc.Dr. 

41 181. touts : see Vocab. Russel's preaching voice was audible a 
mile off. 

41 187. hell : cf. To the D. and notes. 

41 188. sauls does harrow : ' Shakespeare's t^^w/^A' — B. 

' I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 

Would harrow up thy soul.' 

i, V, 14. 

42 200. stories : ' incidents,' the recital of which would be 'stories.' 
42 205. cheese and bread : cf. 1. 62, note. 



NOTES. 193 

42 215. like a tether : cf. ' half-mile graces ' {Ep. McM., 21, p. 44) ; 
*as lang 's my airm ^ {To a H., 5, p. 121). He himself composed some 
famous graces, notably the Selkirk Grace, for which see To a Haggis., 
1. 24, note. 

42 217-225. Explained by the custom above, 1. 62. 

43 226. Clinkumbell : the beadle. Cf. ' Burnewin ' (blacksmith, 
' burn-the-wind '), 'Clout the caudron ' (tinker). — Rattlin refers to the 
chain usually forming the bell-pull. 

43 231. strip their shoon : see 1. 59, note; they had put on their 
shoes on approaching the meeting ; now they doffed them to return 
' barefit ' as they had come. 



EPISTLE TO REV. JOHN McMATH (1785, Sept. 17). 

In July, Gawin Hamilton, a generous, upright man, but not conspicu- 
ously devout, was brought up before the presbytery of Ayr for irregularity 
in church attendance, whistling on a Fast Day, and saying ' Dammit.' 
His chief persecutor was a sanctimonious hypocrite who afterwards 
robbed the poor-box, and died drunk in a ditch, William Auld. Burns 
followed up the trial by a merciless satire on Holy Willie's devotions, 
which was also a burlesque of the extreme ' Auld Licht ' doctrines. 
McMath, one of the ' New Lichts,' asked Burns for a copy of H. W, 
Pr.^ and it was sent along with this Epistle. 

43 1. shearers : because they used sickles. The bad weather of this 
season destroyed half of the Mossgiel crop. 

43 7. monie a sonnet : e.g., H. T, H. W.Pr., Ep. to G., H. F. He 
would hardly have said 'monie a' if the last were not included. See 
introd. note on //. F. Sonnet has its larger meaning. 

43 8. gown, ban* : these are the canonicals of the Scotch clergy, — 
the Geneva gown and the 'bands,' or broad-tailed white necktie worn in 
the pulpit. Bonnet is the flat John Knox cap, mentioned H. E., 66, 

P- V' 

44 17, 18. Ref. to the weak joint in his armor. They did attack 
him, and he had to sit on the 'cutty-stool.' 

44 20. grace-proud faces : another echo of H. E., 87, p. 38. 
44 25. Gau^n: Gavin Hamilton; see introd. note. 

44 30. What way : condensed for ' at the way in which.' 

45 53. And then : the construction is broken, — ' he '11 still disdain 
revenge,' etc., 'and [disdain] then to cry,' etc. Still = always. 



194 NOTES. 

45 60. straight: rimes with 'wight'; both are guttural. 

45 61. All hail, Religion! True religion remains unsullied by all 
of Burns's satires. Presently he was to express his reverence for such 
in C. S. N. When Carlyle said Burns had 'no reUgion,' his judgment 
w^as partially warped by the very Puritanism which Burns so ruthlessly 
exposed. 

46 91. freedom : referring to the preceding complimentary stanza. 
46 96. belang'd ye : i.e., 'to you.' Cf. Boitie Lesley, 14, p. 158. 



THE BRAES O* BALLOCHMYLE (1785, October (?) ). 

In the midst of ecclesiastical and theological bickerings Burns still 
preserved a note of pure song. This is only one of several detached 
songs of this period, and it was about this time that he composed his 
cantata, The Jolly Beggars, his work of greatest artistic promise. 

The Ballochmyle estate was noted for its scenery, and was a favorite 
resort of Burns. The Whiteford family had to part with the property 
for financial reasons, and Maria, who sings this Farewell, is Miss White- 
ford. Here, again, we have real scenery, real places, and actual names. 



TO A MOUSE (1785, November). 

Here we have the promise of Mailie fulfilled; the tenderness is 
deepened, the same playfulness is combined with a richer pathos, and 
the ethic is made to broaden out into life itself. 

47 5, 6. Burns was plowing with four horses. When the mouse 
ran, the boy who was 'gaudsman' to the leading pair rushed to kill it 
with the ' pattle.' Burns saved the mouse's life, and, as he went on 
plowing, composed this poem. To a M. D. was composed under 
similar circumstances, and much of his best verse was composed at the 
plow. It was a favorite place of his for composition, and never more 
so than when farming began to fail him. 

48 33. For: in spite of; cf. 'For a' that.' — Trouble rhymes with 
' nibble,' a local pronunciation. 

48 37. thy lane : ' alone by thyself ' ; cf. the old Eng. usage ' my 
lone.' 



NOTES. 195 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT (1785, November). 

There is no need to question the November of 1. i. He was doubt- 
less composing Halloween at the same time. 

Fergusson's Farmer^s Ingle, though it suggested the title and fur- 
nished the model on which Burns improved, explains as little of the 
origin as it does of the w^orkmanship of this poem. Having in previous 
satires exposed the ugly side of Scotch religion, it is not strange that he 
should desire to do justice to the beauty of Scotch family devotion. It 
was the religious aspect of the picture which first drew him to portray 
it. He had frequently remarked to his brother Gilbert that to him there 
was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase ' Let us worship God,* 
used by the head of a family introducing family worship. So closely 
allied to this sincere religion as to form part of it is the ethical element 
that gives the picture its human beauty. 

The easy and quiet swing of the verse is suggestive. It no doubt 
points to a careful study of Shenstone, but it also means that Hypocrisy 
and Superstition and Cant, with their 'holy robes and hellish spirit,' 
their * mean revenge ' and ' malice false,' and all the sickening and irri- 
tating thoughts of the Herds and Holy Willies have been dismissed. 
He had summed them up in Ep. McM. and put them away, and now he 
turns with a calm spirit to the simple dignity of the cotter's home and 
bids * All hail ' to the religion of his father's fireside. This serious 
picture is as true to fact as the contemptuous humors of H. F. 

49 12. plough : pron. here ' plooch ' to rime with sugh (sooch). See 
D. and Dr. H., 1 34, note. 

49 14. Cotter : the life selected is socially a degree below that of his 
father's home. Burns's father, like himself, was a yeoman rather than 
a peasant. For another description of the cotter's life, see T. D., p. 71. 

49 17. the morn : regular Scotch for 'to-morrow'; so we have the 
day, the nicht, the streen. 

50 21. Burns was a student and admirer of Gray; this is a remi- 
niscence of the Elegy, — 

' For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Nor busy housewife ply her evening care, 
No children run to lisp their sire's return 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.' 

Burns headed the poem by a quotation from the same source. 
50 26. Does : see Gram. Introd. — Kiaugh and care : var. ' carking 
cares.' 



196 NOTES. 

50 29. At service: even the small fanners sent their sons and 
daughters out into ' service.' 

50 31. toun : ' farm-toun.' See Vocab. 

50 35. deposite : old Sc. pron. due to Fr. influence ; cf . e7ivy. 

50 42. Anticipation: the contrast between this strikingly eighteenth- 
century line and the couplet that follows is so violent that only a false 
admiration for his English predecessors can explain it. There are other 
feeblenesses due to the same cause. 

50 47. warned : not iva^-ned. The roll of the r gives the extra 
syllable. 

51 50-54. These Hnes embody the groundwork of the old Scotch 
training, always liable to perversion, and now disappearing. 

51 58. hame : i.e., back to her 'place.' When a farm-servant is 
'fee'd,' his or her new place of abode is ' hame.' To ' gae hame ' in this 
connection is to go to begin work in the new place. 

51 70. wiles: * penetration ' ; cf. wily, above, 1. 50. 

51 77. If Heaven, etc.; versified from Comju. PL Bk., April, 1873. 

52 93. sowpe : applied to any kind of liquid ; see Vocab. 

52 103. ha^-bible : a possession in almost every Scottish home. 
The scene is described from his father's household ; Burns, too, in his 
own home was punctilious in the observance of family worship. 

52 111. Dundee . . . Martyrs . . . Elgin: names of favorite old 
church melodies : note that the g of Elgin is hard. 

53 116. ear . . . raise: grammar according to sense, — 'trills that 
tickle the ear raise no,' etc. ; 'they ' (1. loS) = the trills. 

53 118-135. Burns was very familiar with the Bible, and here he 
rapidly traverses both Old and New Testaments. In the latter stanza 
he speaks of the Gospels (128-130), Acts (131), Epistles (132), and 
Apocalypse (133-5)- 

t>Z 129. second name : i.e., second person of the Trinity. 

53 138. 'Pope's Windsor Forest' — B. 

' See ! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs 
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings.' — 11. iii, 112. 

54 145-153. This stanza is a direct and deliberate offset to the religion 
of the Holy Fair and the pulpit. 

54 158, 159. raven . . . lily : Psalm cxlvii, 9 ; Matthew, vi, 28. 

54 163. The late Professor John Xichol, in the Introductory Essay 
to Mr. Scott Douglas's edition, finds the secret of Scotland's greatness 
to 'rely on the influence of a few men of such character as the father 
of Burns.' \Yhen Carlyle with filial adoration compares his father with 



NOTES. 197 

Burns, to the latter's disadvantage, he should have made the comparison 
between his own and the poet's father. 

54 166. Pope, Essay on Ma7i, iv, 248. The cast of the preceding 
line is taken from Goldsmith, — 

' Princes and lords may flourish and may fade, — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made.' 

Deserted Village, 53. 

54 171. Cf. The T D.^ pp. 71 £f. This inveterate jealousy and sus- 
picion of rank grew on Burns in his later life. 

55 176. prevent from luxury : the old dread alike of Roman Stoic 
and Scotch Puritan. Prevent is simply ' shut off.' The peculiarity is 
in the noun ' contagion,' where we should expect '- from being contami- 
nated,' or infected. 

55 182. Wallace : see Ep. W. S., 58, note. 



HALLOWEEN (1785 ; about the same time as the foregoing). 

The eve of All Saints (Oct. 31) is a Catholic festival, but, like 
those celebrations elsewhere, it had in Scotland drawn to itself much of 
the Pagan tradition and folk superstition of the country. Burns omits 
several practices that still survive in rural districts, — e.g., masquerading 
and singing Halloween songs, ducking for apples, eating mashed pota- 
toes out of a common pot which contains a ring, a piece of silver, etc., 
that bring special destinies on the finder. Those preserved by Burns 
have now almost entirely disappeared, and may have begun to fall into 
desuetude in the poet's day. Naturally, therefore. Burns in localizing 
the poem goes back to the scenery and associations of his childhood, 
when credulity and imagination were equally brisk. 

John Mayne (1759-1836), author of T/ie Siller Gun^ Helen of Kirk- 
connell, Loga7t Braes^ etc., wrote a poem on Halloween, which appeared 
in the Weekly Magazine^ November, 1780 (cf. Ep. J. Z., introd. note). 
Burns probably made use of it. It is quoted after Halloween in 
the 3 vol. edition of Burns's works, published by Jas. R. Osgood & Co., 
Boston, 1877. Mayne introduces the 'guidwife's nits,' the reference 
to people ' trying their nits,' the charms of the ' blue-clue,' and the 
* hemp-seed,' the incident of falling into a 'peatpot.' The composi- 
tion of Burns's Halloweejt evinces great care, and while, like the 
Holy Eair, the poem points to the inspiration of recent occurrences, it 
was by no means hurriedly written. The poet's descriptive power is 



198 , NOTES, 

here at its best. As a picture of a different phase of Scottish country 
life, it is a striking comparison to C. S. N., and another offset to H. F. 
Burns fully annotated the poem himself, as if conscious that he was 
preserving traditions that were soon to be obsolete. 

55 1. that night: 'when witches, devils, and other mischief-making 
beings are all abroad, . . . particularly the fairies.' — B. The fairies were 
supernatural beings about the height of quart bottles; they dressed in 
green, and loved to dance on sequestered spots of fine sward and 
grassy knolls. The superstitious Scot sought to propitiate them in 
various ways, e.g., by calling them - the gude bodies ' (cf. the Gr. 
Eiimenides). 

55 2. Cassilis Downans : ' certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills 
in the neighborhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.' — B. 
They are on the lower Doon, near Burns's birthplace. 

55 5. Colean : Culzean, or Colean, House is another seat of the 
Cassilis family, situated on the cliffy Carrick coast ; the cove, another 
haunt of the fairies, is right under the castle. 

55 13. Carrick : see R. R. A\, i, note. King Robert Bruce was origi- 
nally Earl of Carrick. 

56 20. ' Better looking than when they have fine clothes on.' 

56 23. wooer-babs : rosettes to set off the knee-breeches then worn. 

56 29. stocks: 'The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a 
stock, or plant, of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes 
shut and pull the first they meet with : its being big or little, straight 
or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of 
all their spells, — the husband or ^^-ife. If any " yird," or earth, stick to 
the root, that is " tocher," or fortune ; and the taste of the " custoc," that 
is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper or disposi- 
tion. Lastly the stems, or to give them their proper appellation, the 
"runts," are placed above the head of the door: and the Christian 
names of people whom chance brings into the house are, according to 
the priority of placing the runts, the names in question.' — B. 

56 32. fell aff the drift : ' dropped away from the others.' 

57 47-52. 'They go to the barnyard and pull each, at three several 
times, a stalk of oats. If the third stock wants the " top-pickle," that 
is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to 
the marriage-bed anything but a maid.' — B. 

57 53. fause-house : ' \Yhen the corn is in a doubtful state, by 
being too green or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., 
makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which 
is fairest exposed to the wind : this he calls a " fause-house." ' — B. 



NOTES, 199 

57 55. weel-hoordit nits : ' Burning the nuts is a favorite charm : 
they name the lad or lass to each particular nut as they lay them in the 
fire ; and according as they burn quietly together or start from beside 
one another the course and issue of the courtship will be.' — B. 

57 62. chimlie : ' mantel-piece ' (not ' chimney,' which is 'lum,'l. 70). 

57 67. says in : 'inwardly' : opposed to ' say oot,' i.e., aloud. 

57 74. Mallie : i.e., Mary. 

58 98. blue-clue : ' Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling 
throw into the '' pot " a clue of blue yarn : wind it in a new clue off the 
old one ; and toward the latter end something will hold the thread : 
demand " Wha hands } " and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot 
by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.' — B. 

58 100. win^t : i.e., 'winded' (wound). See Gram. Introd. 
58 102. pat : the kiln-pot, or bottom of the kiln. 

58 107. wait on talkin : wait for words. 

59 111. apple at the glass : ' Take a candle and go alone to a look- 
ing-glass : eat an apple before it (and some traditions say you should 
comb your hair all the time) : the face of your conjugal companion to 
be will be seen in the glass as if peeping over your shoulder.' — B. 
It might be the deil. 

59 118. skelpie-limmer^s face : ' a technical term in female scolding.' 
— B. Something like ' bold-faced gadabout.' 

59 127. Sherra moor : battle of Sheriffmuir, which quelled the Jacob- 
ite rising of 171 5 : the clans were raised by the Earl of Mar, whence 
' Mar's year,' below, 1. 240. 

59 128. min ^t : ' mind it ': cf. win^t, 1. 100. Grannie is dramatically 
longwinded in her reminiscences, like Juliet's nurse. 

59 132. stuff : regular term for the grain crops. 

59 133. kirn : ' harvest-home ' : cf. Sc. Z>r., 49, p. 65; The T Z>., 124, 

P- 75- 

60 140. hemp-seed : ' Steal out unperceived and sow a handful of 
hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after 
you. Repeat now and then, " Hemp-seed, I saw thee : and him (her) 
that is to be my true love, come after me an' pou thee." Look over 
your left shoulder and you will see the appearance of the person invoked 
in the attitude of pulling hemp.' — B. 

60 163. Lord Lennox' march : cf . Tarn 0' Shaiiter, 84, — 

' Whiles croonin owre some auld Scots sonnet.' 

61 181. barn gaen : 'barn' has two syll. ; for 'wad gaen,' see 
Gram. Introd. 



200 MOTES. 

61 182. three wechts o^ naething : see Vocab. 'wecht.' 'This 
charm must Hkewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to 
the barn and open both doors, taking them off their hinges if possi- 
ble. . . . Then take a "wecht," and go through all the attitudes of let- 
ting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third 
time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door 
and out at the other, having the figure in question.' — B. 

61 192. on Sawnie gies a ca' : Sandy is the herd of 1. 185. Note the 
stroke of truth : Meg is about to trust herself to supernatural powers, 
and the call to Sandy is a kind of link with the natural world. 

61 201. faddom't thrice : ' Take an opportunity of going unnoticed 
to a "bear-stack," and fathom it thrice round. The last fathom of the 
last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future con- 
jugal yoke-fellow.' — B. Fathoming is measuring round with the arms 
at full stretch. The others had promised Will a ' braw ane,' i.e., a fine- 
looking lass. 

61 202. timmer-propt for thrawin : the stack had timbers set against 
it in case of its twisting as it settled. 

62 211. settlin : quieting ; the friskiness was taken out of her. 

62 214. three lairds' lands met : ' You go out, one or more (for 
this is a social spell), to a south running spring or rivulet where three 
lairds' lands meet, and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of 
a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and some 
time near midnight an apparition having the exact figure of the grand 
object in question will come and turn the sleeve as if to dry the other 
side.'— ^. 

62 217-225. Often quoted as an unequalled piece of condensed de- 
scription. 

62 228. The deil : as in To the D., 41, 47, p. 18; the deil has the 
preference. 

63 236. luggies three : ' Take three dishes, put clean water in one, 
foul water in another, and leave the third empty : blindfold a person 
and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged : he dips his 
hand, — if in the first, he will marry a maid ; if in the second, a widow ; 
the third foretells no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and 
each time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.' — B. 

63 240. Mar's-year : seel. 127, note. 

63 248. butter'd so'ns : ' Sowens with butter instead of milk to 
them is always the Halloween supper.' — B. 



NOTES. 201 



SCOTCH DRINK (composed probably about the festive time of 
Yule and the New Year, 1785-86). 

The poem is a development of the stanza of the Holy Fair^ begin- 
ning ' Leeze me on Drink!' (11. 163-171) and contains other echoes 
from the same source. For the earlier date of H. F., see that poem, 
notes. 
• This poem is an offset to Fergusson's Caller- Water., and the two run 
on parallel lines. Burns reverts to this subject so frequently, and with 
such gusto, that a word in general may here be set down. In Scotland, 
as in other European countries during the last century, ale, whisky, 
wine, etc., were not only universal accessories to social enjoyment, but 
recognized essentials of ordinary hospitality. To get drunk in com- 
pany was a venial offence, and among the higher and even professional 
classes was a fashionable peccadillo. Scotch butlers took it as a sign 
of coming degeneracy when ' gentlemen ' were able to go to bed with- 
out assistance. This explains the poet's light and humorous handling 
of the subject. He himself was no ascetic, and before he died he had 
drunk many a glass more than was good for him ; but only ignorance 
can find the inspiration of his genius in liberal Scotch drink. Of 
poems written before this date he has drawn pleasantry from the sub- 
ject in D. Dr. H., To the D., Ep. to L. (i), H. F, J. B., H. W. Fr., and 
others. But Gilbert Burns testifies that during the whole Lochlea 
period (1777-84) he never saw his brother intoxicated, ' nor was he 
at all given to drinking.' Burns himself speaks of scenes of ' riot and 
debauchery ' ; but the fact that up to the publication of his book his 
expenses never exceeded his annual income of £-], or $35, puts any 
degree of revelry in liquor out of the question. Burns was not a hard 
drinker until he went to Dumfries ; even then he was not what one 
would term a drunkard ; and before that his drinking was probably less 
than that of the average Scotsman of his day. 

63 1. The fourth stanza of Fergusson's Caller Water begins 

' The fuddlin bardies now-a-days 
Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus praise.' 

64 6. glass or jug : i.e., whisky or ale. So in 11. 8-10. 

64 17. John Barleycorn : barley is almost the only grain used in 
Scotland for brewing and distilling. 

64 20. souple scones : barley-meal scones, baked without yeast, and 
therefore thin and pliant. 

64 22. kail an' beef : i.e., Scotch broth. 



202 NOTES. 

64 23. strong heart's blood : ' barley-bree,' esp. whisky. 

64 31. doited Lear: cf. 'It waukens Lear' i^H. F., 165, p. 41). 
' Lear,' ' Care,' etc., are eighteenth-century personifications : see Gen. 
Litrod., p. xli and note i. 

65 37. siller weed : arrayed in silver; i.e., served in silver tankards at 
the tables of the gentry. 

65 41. drap parritch: porridge and small ale, the * penny-w^heep ' 
of H. F.y was a regular poor man's dish. Carlyle well notices this 
poetic interpretation of ' the poor man's wine.' Drap, because porridge 
is 'poured' into the dishes in Scotland. 

65 45. meetings 0' the saunts : assemblages like the Holy Fair. 

65 47, 48. besiege the tents : ' crowd open-mouthed round the out- 
door pulpits.' Cf. H. F.^ 102, 107, p. 39. Doubly: i.e., both by the 
* Cantharidian plaisters ' and by the 'jars an' barrels' (//. /'., 116, 126). 

65 49. corn in : see Vocab., Kirn 2 ; //., 133, p. 59 ; and T, Z>., 124, 

P-75- 

65 51. New-Year mornin : the same custom is described in T. Z>., 
129-138, p. 75. It used to be customary, and is still common, in Scot- 
land to ' handsel ' the new year with potations of whisky. The cus- 
tom of 'first-footing' is not yet extinct. The luck for the year is sup- 
posed to depend on the first who enters across the threshold. Friends, 
accordingly, start soon after midnight to first-foot each other with a full 
hand and a good wish. Large quantities of cheese and whisky are 
consumed. 

65 53. spiritual burn in : 'ardent spirits therein.* 

65 55. Vulcan : the blacksmith, ' Burnewin ' (1. 60). The smithy is 
also the place where Tam o' Shanter gets ' roarin fou ' every time he 
gets the mare shod. 

65 62. ploughman : it is still the custom of the plowmen, when they 
go to the smithy with their plow-irons, to give the blacksmith a 'chaup ' 
(i.e., swing the sledge for him). 

66 90. warst faes : Burns here assumes the English attitude towards 
the French : all the traditions of Scotland from Malcolm Canmore 
down had been those of friendship with France. 

67 96. Four stanzas are omitted here. 



MARE MAGGIE (1786, January). 

This is the Joh^t Anderson^ my jOy of Burns*s poems. It portrays a 
long and tried friendship and those relations of human intimacy that 
are common between the country people of Scotland and their domes- 



NOTES. 203 

tic animals, and is lightened up by a glow of autobiographic reminis- 
cence. Burns had a favorite mare which he named Jenny Geddes, his 
companion in many adventures, and his description of her, besides 
illustrating this poem, furnishes a good example of his Scotch prose: — 

' My auld ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyall'd up hill and down brae, in Scot- 
land and England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil wi' me. It 's true she 's as 
poor as a sangmaker and as hard 's a kirk, and tippertaipers when she taks the 
gate like a hen on a het girdle, but she 's a yauld poutherie girran for a' that. . . . 
When ance her ring-banes and spavies, her cruicks and cramps, are fairly soupled, 
she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost hour the tightest. I could wager her 
price to a thretty pennies that for twa or three wooks ridin at fifty mile a day 
the deil-sticket a five gallopers acqueesh Clyde & Whithorn could cast saut upon 
her tail.' — Letter to W. Nichol^ June i, lySy. 

67 11. should been tight: 'had need to be girt for action.' For 
'should been,' see Gram. Introd. Tread (1. i6) is i^ast tense. 

68 21. 0' tocher clear : his wife brought Maggie and fifty marks as 
dowry. Fifty marks (Eng. money) would be about ^165. 

68 23. weel won : * earned by honest toil.' 

68 35. Kyle-Stewart : the northern division of Central Ayrshire, 
between the Irvine and the Ayr, in which Mossgiel lay; in the south- 
ern division. King Kyle, Burns was born. 

68 44. stable meals : horse feed was poor at the fair. 

69 47. Toun^s bodies : said with a countryman's commiseration. 
69 53. ev^ry tail : humorously for ' every head.' 

69 57. Scotch mile : long miles, commonly called ' hielant miles.' 
69 63. aught hours' gaun : eight hours' going. Say rood = i\ acre. 

69 67-72. ' Thou didst never fret, or plunge and kick, but thou wouldst 
have whisked thy old tail, and spread abroad thy large chest with pith 
and power, till hillocks, where the earth was full of tough-rooted plants, 
would have given forth a crackling sound and the clods fallen gently 
over.' — Shairp, 

70 75. a wee-bit heap aboon: 'filled her wooden measure of oats 
rather above the brim.' He knew she would be hard put to it with the 
spring work ere summer came with rest. For that : * on account of the 
late season.' 

70 85. pleugh : plowing team of four horses. 

70 89. thretteen pund an' twa : fifteen pounds sterling. Not Scots 
money, which would only be six dollars. Cf. 1. 21, note. 

70 100. For my last fou : for is a conjunction, and fou a substantive 
in apposition to ane. See Gram. Introd. 



204 AZOTES. 

This stanza ought to be enough to explode the derivation of sti7n- 
part from huitienie part ; no farmer would feed an old mare with a 
' heaped half-peck ' of oats at a time. See Vocab., stiinpart. 



THE TWA DOGS (1786, some time before February r7). 

In a letter of this date he refers to it as 'finished.' He had 'nearly 
taken ' his resolution to go into print, and this poem was composed 
partly with that resolution in mind. He indicated his estimation of its 
importance by placing it first in the Kilmarnock edition. 

The poem originated in a desire to perpetuate the memory of 
a favorite dog, Luath, that had been wantonly killed. But this 
idea grew into the tale of the two dogs, in which with an inimitable 
blending of canine humor and human seriousness the social circum- 
stances of the peasant-farmer are shown forth in clear relief against 
the upper landed proprietary, — a tale in which homily rises to 
poetry. In its account of the Cotter's life the poem is a companion 
picture to C. S. A"., but it is not a sermon on rustic contentment. 
Caesar is an invention introduced as a foil to Luath, and it is to be 
observed that the peasant dog has a fairly favorable estimate of 
the laird class ; it is Caesar who is better informed and brings 
disillusion. 

71 2. King Coil: see A. M. M., 35, note. This poem, like Hal- 
Icnueen, takes us back to the Mount Oliphant days. The district is said 
to have taken its name from Coilus, a Pictish king. 

71 12. cod : Caesar was a Newfoundland dog. His freedom from 
pride is at once the result of his being a good dog and the cause of his 
being a severe critic of the class to which he belongs. In his letter to 
Dr. Moore (Aug. 2, 1787), Burns speaks of his boyish friendship with 
social superiors and their kindness to him, adding, * It takes a few 
dashes into the world to give the young Great man that proper, decent, 
unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, stupid peasantry.' 

71 21. stan't : 'have stood.' 

72 24. rantin, ravin : an echo of the song Rantiji, Rovin Robin, 

72 26. Luath : named after ' Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingai: 
— B. 

72 37. Nae doubt : observe the implied sarcasm on the ' lords of 
creation ^ and their relations. For the study of animal life, cf. A.M. M. 



NOTES. 205 

72 51. racket rents: a recollection of the 'ruinous bargain' of 
Mount Oliphant. 

73 58. Geordie : golden guineas bearing King George's head. 

73 65. whipper-in : Burns's hatred of fox-hunting here shows itself 
as contempt for the huntsman, — ' worthless elf,' 'it.' 

73 7] ff. In this bitterly realistic picture of the cotter's life, Luath 
can scarcely be regarded as preaching the contentment he closes with; 
and Burns was no cynic. 

73 78. thack and rape : metaphor here for ' the necessaries of life '; 
for a literal use of the term, see B. A.^ 2, p. 109, and note. 

74 93. court-day : the day on which the tenants have to go to the 
factor's office with their rents ; if they fail, the sequel is apt to be as 
described in the lines that follow. 

74 96. factor : landlord's agent. ' We fell into the hands of a factor 
who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my Tale of the Twa 
Dogs . . . My indignation yet boils at the scoundrel factor's insolent, 
threatening letters which used to set us all in tears.' — B. (Letter to 
Dr. Moore.) 

74 102. wretches: 'wretched beings.' 

74 105-6. This confession is so grim that it makes Luath appear 
almost as a foil to Caesar rather than conversely. 

75 111 ff. Few have spoken so feelingly of domestic joys as Burns; 
cf. Ep. D. B., 52-54, p. 141, and elsewhere. 

75 115. twalpennie worth : = a Scots pint ; but Scots pints were four 
times as large as English pints, and a Scots penny was only a twelfth 
of an English one. 

75 118. Kirk and State: until the year 1874 the clergy of the 
Church of Scotland were appointed by ' patrons ' of the various livings. 
Patronage was much discussed in Burns's time, and ultimately caused 
the Disruption of 1843, when a section of the church decided to 'gie 
the brutes themsel the power to choose their herds ' {T. H., 89, 90), a 
privilege which since 1874 has been universal. 

75 12.3. Hallowmas . . . kirns : cf. Sc. Dr., 49, note. 

75 129. the year begins : cf. Sc. Dr., 51, note. 

76 144. rascal: this is the factor once more; the 'gentle (i.e., of 
gentle birth) master' is the laird, who does not rack the tenants except 
through the factor. Luath's guilelessness is a trifle overdone here to 
give Caesar a good cue. 

76 157. tour : those were still the days of the ' grand tour.' 
76 160. entails : entail is the law by which property, especially real 
estate, passes to the next male heir, and is thus preserved intact. It 



206 NOTES. 

cannot be sold except by breaking the entail, and for this an act of 
Parliament is required. Nearly all landed property in Britain is en 
tailed. 

76 162. nowt : again the contempt for sports that mean suffering 
to dumb animals ; cf. 1. 65. The word ' nowt ' takes all the romance 
from bull-fighting. 

76 165. drumly German-water: the German spas were coming into 
vogue. 

77 175. frae courts : for similar ingenuousness, cf. the reference to 
'kings* palaces' in Luke, vii. 25; cf. also Ramsay, The Vision, 317,— 

' Syne wallopt to tar courts and bleizt 
Till riggs and shaws were spent.' 

77 180. Fient haet : for this defence, cf. 1. 144, note. 
77 183. hare or moor-cock : referring to violation of the game laws, 
a crime more severely punished in Scotland than wife-beating. 
77 195. bodies: 'folk,' 'people.' 

77 196. their colleges : cf. Ep.J. Z., 61-72, p. 29, and note. 

78 203. girl : two syllables on account of rolled r. 

78 204. dizzens : ' dozens ' of hanks of thread to be wound for 
weaving. 

78 215. cast out : 'quarrel,' ' mak a pley.' 

78 216. sowther a': ' cement the whole,' ' make it all up.' 

78 222. run : ' out-and-out,' ' thorough-paced.' 

78 226. deviPs pictured beuks : Puritanic name for cards. 

78 227. stackyard : i.e., the value of a whole year's crop. 

78 230. this is, etc.: Burns had small means of knowing the life he 
so confidently portrayed; but his account represents the current belief 
of the rural population. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH (1786, early in the year). 

Just before this Burns had returned to two subjects which he had simul- 
taneously treated before, — Scotch Drink and Scotch Religion, — and 
written The Author'* s Earnest Cry and Prayer, and The Ordination. 
Both are poems of extraordinary vivacity and vigor, but have a dash of 
hardness, the one political, the other theological. Here the poet 
mellows to the touch of friendship. 

James Smith, a shop-keeper of Mauchline, was ' a person of ready 
wit and lively manners, and much respected by the poet.' When 



NOTES. 207 

trouble with the Armour family was gathering round him, Burns wrote 
(February 17): 'I am extremely happy with Smith; he is the only friend 
I now have in Mauchline.' This is the mood in which the poet has 
written one of the finest of all familiar epistles, whether prose or verse. 
He has a happy impulse, his 'barmie noddle 's workin prime,' and the 
bright movements of his fancy as he plays with wisdom are reflected in 
the easy ripple of the verse. The poem is especially rich in interest of 
more than the merely biographical kind. 

SO 30. for fun: this is no mere affectation; it represents one of his 
moods in which riming seemed merely an idle pastime. Cf. Ep.J. Z., 
49-54, p. 28; but see below, and also next poem. 

80 36. countra wit : cf. 1. 137, and Ep. J. Z., -^^^ p. 29. 

80 37. This while : the confidence in his own abilities which this 
step indicates is frankly stated in the preface to the Kilmarnock edition, 
qualified by the same diffidence we find here. 

SO 40. cries Hoolie : cf. ' Now that he appears in the public character 
of an author, he does it with fear and trembling.' — Pref. Kilm. Ed. 

80 44. Greek : represented to Burns the acme of college learning 
and culture; cf. Ep.J. Z., 71-72, p. 29, — 

' climb Parnassus by dint o' Greek.' 

81 5-2. whistlin : may refer to the plowman's habit of whistling at 
his work ; or it may be used figuratively = ' bustling.' 

82 75. joyless Eild : in one of his characters Burns was prematurely 
old, just as in another he was always a boy. Here he seems to dread 
old age. Cf. The IVijiter of Age ^ notes. 

82 89. expected warning : the call ' Minutes,' signal for the fore- 
noon recess of a few minutes for play about 11 o'clock. 

S3 117. Luna: cf. Terra (1. 123). Burns's Latin used to be a stand- 
ing joke in the family, but he took pride in it next to his French. He 
knew, however, 'small [French] and less [Latin].' 

83 126. rowth 0' rhymes : in Sc. Dr. he had stipulated 

' Hale breeks, a scone an' whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhymes to rave at will.' 

Here he leaves whisky to the ' cairds ' (1. 131). 

83 133. Dempster : a patriotic Scotsman and member of Parliament. 

83 134. Pitt: Pitt the younger, then Prime Minister, who is fre- 
quently complimented by Burns; cf. A Dreain, 55-58, p. 103. At a 
late hour he recognized the similarity of the genius of Burns to that of 
Shakspere. 



208 NOTES. 

84 137. wit : last century use of the word, more akin to ' good 
sense.' A person of ' little wit ' in Scotch is a foolish person, not a dull 
one ; add polish, and you have the ' wit ' of Pope. 

84 145. throws : see Gram. Introd. 

84 163-8. This stanza is an anticipation of the Address to the Unco 
Guid. The poems touch at other points. 



THE VISION (1786, about the same time as the preceding). 

The opening lines need not be questioned. This poem bears a very 
close relation to Ep. J. S. Its subject is that which gives its personal 
interest to the earlier epistle, — his plans, prospects, poetry, capabilities. 
There he plays over the subject with humorous and familiar fancy ; 
here he settles down to a serious estimate of himself as a poet. The 
humor disappears, and the fancy warms to a glow of passion. The diffi- 
dence, too, which still pursues him, melts away as he accepts the con- 
secration of his life and genius. 

Here, again, Burns drew from Ramsay, in whose poem The Visio7t a 
specter similarly appears to the poet, clad in a ' rainbow-colourt plaid,* 
and utters words of ardent patriotism. But, as in every case, what he 
borrows is the merest trifle to what he brings. 

Duan: *a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive 
poem; see his Cath-loda.'' — B. 

85 2. roaring : the ' roaring game ' is named both from the noise 
made by the stones on the ice, and from the boisterousness of the 
players. 

85 7. flingin-tree : there were no threshing-mills in those days ; all 
grain was threshed with the flail. Cf. G. W. H.^ 3. 

86 20. I backward musM : cf . To a Mouse, 45, — 

' I backward cast an ee 
On prospects drear.' 

86 23. stringin blethers : cf. Ep. J. S., 30, and note, — 

' I rhyme for fun.' 

86 25. harket : for the worldly wisdom to which he did not harken, 
see Ep. V. Er., 49-56, p. 100. 

87 55. hair-brainM sentimental trace : this and the ' wildly-witty 
air' would, according to Arnold, be of Celtic origin; the Diians and the 
tartan robe (1. 61) give the same indication. 



NOTES. 209 

87 63. Jean. So it was originally written, but when the poems were 
already in press he changed it to ' my Bess, I ween,' on account of his 
trouble with the Armours. In 1787 'my bonie Jean' was restored. 

87 72. well known land : Ayrshire, or, more strictly, Kyle. 

88 86. an ancient borough : the charter of Ayr is probably the 
oldest known; it was granted about 1200 by William the Lion, who 
made the town a royal burgh and royal residence. 

88 96. Here follow seven stanzas celebrating the Wallaces, first in- 
troduced into the Edinburgh edition. Thirteen more stanzas of the 
first Duan, chiefly panegyrical of patrons, Burns was impulsive enough 
to WTite, but had the good sense to keep in MS. 

88 133. musing-deep : i.e., deep-musing. 

89 139. inspired bard: his confident self-possession here is in 
striking contrast with the hesitancy of Ep. J. S.^ 37 ff., p. 80. 

89 146. aerial band : similarly, the spirit of Caledon, in Ramsay's 
Vision^ has aerial attendants. 

89 157. Seven stanzas describing the ofiices of the several orders of 
spirits are here omitted. 

89 199. Coila: from Coil. See T. D., 2, p. 71, and R.R.R., i,p. 15. 
Burns tells us he took the idea from Scota, the muse of Alexander 
Ross. (See Gen. Introd, p. xxix, n. 2.) 

89 209. Fir^d : agrees with thee contained in thy. The ' artless lays ' 
are those of the Song Collection, his vade mecum at Mount Oliphant, 
and the version of Blind Harry's Wallace by Hamilton {Ep. W. S.^ 15 
and 58, notes). 

90 211. shore: if Burns did this, it is strange that the sea should 
occupy so insignificant a place in his poetry. (See Gen. Introd., pp. 
liii-liv.) 

90 215. grim Nature : see Ep. W. S., j^^ p. 34, and Gen. Introd., p. 
liii ff. 

90 234. soothe thy flame : ' My passions raged like so many devils 
till they got vent in rhyme ; and then conning over my verses, like a 
spell, soothed all into quiet ' (Letter to Dr. Moore). Cf. Ep. W. S., 30, — 

' It gies me ease.' 

Tennyson speaks of similar relief in the ^ mechanic exercise * of verse, — 
/7Z Menioriam., v. 

90 233-246. I taught . . . friends : ref. esp. to C. S. N. Burns's 
fame was as yet only local, but it was well established. MS. copies of 
his poems had freely circulated and won him friends among the country 
gentry, notably Mrs. Dunlop and Mrs. Stewart of Stair. 



210 NOTES, 

91 247-252. Of pure description, like that of Thomson, Burns has 
very Httle. Shenstone was an early favorite, whose 'bosom-melting' 
powers he much exaggerated. Gray's ' moving flow ' is that of the 
Elegy. The last two influences affected the C. S. N.^ which see. 

91 256. army : branching, many-armed. 

92 276. Ramsay is more specific, — 

* He mountit upwards frae my sicht 
Straicht to the Milky Way.' 



TO THE UNCO CxUID (1786, soon after the preceding). 

At the close of Ep. J. S. there is a hint that this subject was occupy- 
ing his mind. He was now approaching a crisis of those misfortunes 
which, as he says, 'let us ken oursel'; and this poem is to some extent 
a personal plea. But the same reflections had passed through his mind 
and been noted long before, when he was in similar distress : 

' Let any of the strictest character for regularity of conduct among us examine 
impartially how many of his virtues are owing to constitution and education ; 
how many vices he has never been guilty of. not from any care or vigilance, but 
from want of opportunity or some accidental circumstance intervening ; how many 
of the weaknesses of mankind he has escaped because he was out of the line of 
such temptation ; and what often, if not always, weighs more than all the rest, 
how much he is indebtecl to the world's good opinion because the world does not 
know all : I say any man who can thus think, will scan the failings, nay, the 
faults and crimes of mankind around him with a brother's eye.' — Comm. Pl.Bk.^ 
March, 1784. 

The poem, no less remarkable for its penetration than for its kindli- 
ness, is at once a plea for the ethical right and a condemnation of the 
Pharisaism which turns goodness into the ' righteousness over much ' 
of the Unco Guid. 

The fact that it had such a distinct personal application to his case 
at this time may have induced Burns to omit the poem from the Kil- 
marnock edition. It first appeared in the Edinburgh edition. 

92 8. plays clatter : cf. ' played dirl,' D. and Dr. H., 95, note. 

92 10. counsel: advocate, a law term. So 'propone defences,' 1. 14. 

93 21. Discount : see introd. note. They are asked to discomit, not 
all their purity, as a comma after ' gave ' would imply, but as much of 
it as is due to scanty opportunity : ' what scant occasion, and your better 
art of hiding, gave to that purity,' etc. 



NOTES. 211 

93 39. your . . . hell : these people are as narrow in pocket as in 
mind, and dread of expense is often a more powerful deterrent than 
dread of ' the eternal consequences.' 

94 48. nae temptation : possessed of few attractions, hence unlikely 
either to tempt or be tempted. 

94 49. Then gently scan, etc.: from this point on the poem has 
become a sheaf of familiar quotations. 

Early in this year Burns had contracted a Scotch marriage, valid in 
point of law, with Jean Armour. About April 13, her parents, furious 
at her connection with Burns, made her surrender the writing, and 
destroyed it. Burns felt himself deserted as well as shamed. He 
thought, too, that he foresaw Jean ' on the road to eternal ruin.' His 
distraction broke out in that passionate Lament^ which, but for the 
circumstances, would be ranked beside his lines to the memory of 
Highland Mary. The same anguish of recollection and disappointment 
appears in this song. 



SONG COMPOSED IN SPRING (1786). 

From its chorus it has also been named Menie's Ee. Burns threw 
disguises over it. He adopted a chorus entirely out of keeping; he 
appended a note stating that the chorus was * part of a song composed 
by a gentleman in Edinburgh ' ; and he reminded us that Menie is for 
Ma7'ianne. But he himself was the 'gentleman in Edinburgh,' and 
' Menie ' was simply Jeanie. The explanation of the apparently bizarre 
chorus may be found in his note of June 12 to David Brice: * What she 
thinks of her conduct now I don't know: one thing I do know, she has 
made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored, a 
woman more than I did her ; and to confess the truth . . . I do still love 
her to distraction? (The italics are mine.) 

95 14. tentie seedsman: 'careful sower'; 'stalks' aptly describes 
the measured gait of the plowman sowing by hand. 
95 23-24. A reminiscence of Gray's Elegy, — 

' Brushing with hasty step the dews away.' 
See letter quoted To a M. D., 31, note. 

95 25. 'tween light an' dark : a nice touch of nature; the lark raises 
his first song before daybreak. Cf. also To a M. Z>., 7-12, p. 96. 



212 NOTES. 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY (1786, April). 

This poem was originally entitled The Gowan ; for the circumstances, 
cf. To a Mouse. In estimating the originality and value of such poems 
we must bear in mind that Burns preceded Wordsworth. 

96 2. Thou 's : ' thou has.' See Gram. Introd. 

96 8. The bonie lark : see above, Song Composed i7i Springs 25, p. 95. 

97 31-54. In a letter to John Kennedy (April 20), in which he 
encloses this poem, Burns refers to these sentiments as the ' querulous 
feelings of a heart which, as the elegantly melting Gray says, " Melan- 
choly has marked for her own." ' But these * sentiments' are far more 
than reflections on the tragedy of human life ; they are cries of anguish 
WTung from him by dire fate. See preceding song, introd. note. 

97 38. luckless starrM : Burns moralized magnificently, but when 
the pinch came, he often, like a creature of emotion, cursed his evil star, 
and then his excitable temperament charged the air with blackness, e.g., 
below^ 1. 50. It was now, too, that he wrote his Staiizas to Ruin and 
Ode to Despondency. 



TO MARY (1786, May). 

His farming on Mossgiel being a failure, Burns resolved to try his 
fortune in Jamaica. At the same time, his apparent desertion by Jean 
Armour and the fancied annulment of his marriage ' cut his veins.' 
Both ruin and disgrace confronted him, and he felt himself * nine parts 
and nine-tenths out of ten stark staring mad.' Now with all the aban- 
don of his passionate nature he threw himself into that love of his 
about w^hich there hung so much secrecy and out of whose secrecy there 
developed so much romance. This was Highland Mary, whom Burns's 
song has raised to a consecrated niche beside Dante's Beatrice. 

Mary Campbell was at this time probably a nurserymaid in the 
family of Gavin Hamilton. She had not been there long, and when 
Burns speaks of a ' pretty long reciprocal attachment,' his words must 
be taken as we take his other statement, that this is a song of his * very 
early years.' An earlier date for the Highland Mary episode is now 
known to be wrong, and, strange and disappointing as it may seem, 
there is no longer doubt that the episode must be fitted into this crucial 
period of the poet's life. It is further probable that it w^as as brief as 
it was rash. 



NOTES. 213 

The story of their romantic parting is a familiar legend. Prior to 
Mary's return to her West Highland home for a season, the lovers met 
by appointment on the second Sunday of May and spent a farewell day 
together on the banks of the Ayr. Burns gave Mary a Bible in two 
volumes (now kept in the Ayr monument) with writing and masonic 
m^arks in each, and they parted, never to meet again. Five months later, 
October 20, Mary died in Greenock, and was buried there in the West 
Kirkyard, a spot neglected for all but her. 

See also notes on To Mary ut Heaven and Highland Mary ; and, for 
a full discussion, see Works^ I. 294-299 and IV. 1 21-130. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND (1786, May). 

This unique composition is addressed to a son of Robert Aiken, the 
lawyer, to whom Burns dedicated his Cotter^ s Saturday Night. More 
' sermon ' than ' sang,' it marks a revulsion into a mood of dispassionate 
worldly wisdom. In his trouble he had given way to grief and despair, 
ta hot self-reproach and bitter scorn. Now he arrays his experience of 
the w^orld and his knowledge of human nature to point the way to that 
respectability and mundane success which he himself had failed to at- 
tain. Still, the epistle, with all its cold prudence, is only a mood. The 
same mood often occurs incidentally ; here it is unique by being sus- 
tained. It reads, too, as if the writer w^ere advising himself rather than 
some one else, and it has in it inter alia more of the ordinary ' canny 
Scot ' than anything else he has written. 

99 25. they : repeated in * their ' (next line) ; see Gram. Introd. 

99 27-28. end . . . answer : ' answer an end ' is Scotch for * serve a 
purpose.' 

100 37-40. These lines may be simply a bit of the common worldly 
prudence of the ' pawky ' Scot, but they find a striking parallel in Ches- 
terfield's Letters^ which Burns may have read. * Sly ' has no mean sense 
here ; it is simply ' shrewd ' ; cf. Ep. J. S., i, — 

' Dear Smith, the slee-est pawkie thief.' 

100 48. Here follow^ed a stanza w^hich Burns tried to suppress. It 
is weak; but it throws interesting light on the state of his mind : 



214 NOTES. 

' If ye hae made a step aside, 
Some hap mistak o'ertaen ye, 
Yet still keep up a decent pride 
An ne'er o'er far demean ye : 
Time comes wi' kind oblivious shade 

An' daily darker sets it ; 
And if nae mair mistaks are made, 
The warld soon forgets it.' 

100 51. wile : cf. the use of 'sly' above, 1. 40. 
100 56. independent : see Gen. Introd. pp. Ixxvii-lxxviii. 
100 57-58. This couplet has become proverbial in Scotland. 
100 61. touches: see Gram, Introd. 

100 65-68. With these lines cf. C. S. N. and //. F. 

101 80. cf. the closing lines of his Conwi. PL Bk., — * Let my pupil, 
as he tenders his own peace, keep up a regular warm intercourse with 
the Deity.' 



A DREAM (1786, June). 

* On reading in the public papers the Laureate's Ode, with other 
parade of June 4, the author was no sooner dropt asleep than he im- 
agined himself transported to the Birthday Levee, and in his dreaming 
fancy made the following Address.' — B. The poet laureate in 1786 
was the well-known author of the History of English Poetiy, Thomas 
Warton, the opening lines of whose Ode may be quoted to illustrate by 
contrast Burns's frank touch of reality, — 

* When Freedom nursed her native fire 

In ancient Greece and ruled the lyre, 
Her hands disdainful from the tyrant's brow 

The tinsel gifts of flattery tore, 
But paid to guiltless power the willing vow 

And to the throne of virtuous kings,' etc. 

The Dream is not a sublime production, but it is full of character. 
Even the easy gallop of the verse contributes to the brusquerie of the 
poem. Mrs. Dunlop and others advised him to omit this piece from the 
Edinburgh edition, as it contained ' perilous stuff.' His reply was char- 
acteristic : — ' Poets, much my superiors, have so flattered those who 
possessed the adventitious qualities of wealth and power, that I am 
determined to flatter no created being. I set as little store by princes. 



NOTES, 215 

lords, clergy, critics, etc., as all these respective gentry by my hardship.' 
{^Letter to Mrs. D., April 30, 1787.) Yet the Dream was neither written 
nor printed out of defiance, and its perfect good nature disarms all 
offence. Its familiarity is disillusioning, but this is merely the frank 
raillery and plain speech of one to whom princes, being only human 
beings, are not above a word of honest sense. 

The peculiar verse, which is a sort of double four-in-hand after the 
pattern of Ramsay's EdiiiburgJi's Salutation to the Earl of Carnarvon^ 
helps to give rapidity to the movement. Burns did not publish this 
poem. It first appeared in the Edinbtirgh Magazine for February, 18 18. 

101 4. wishes : usually pronounced as here, ' wisses.' 

102 14. a venal gang: those were still the days of 'patrons,' and 
flattering addresses and dedications. 

102 26. aiblins ane : a ' canny ' w^ay of saying 'not a few.' 

102 33. reft an^ clouted : ' the British Empire is much torn and 
patched ; since the loss of the American Colonies a piece of twine one- 
third as long will go round the parcel.' 

103 43. chaps : like Lord North and the Duke of Grafton. Yon 
day refers to the origin of the trouble with America. 

103 46. peace: Treaty of Paris, September, 1783. 

103 50. For me : a grim allusion to his hopeless circumstances. 
' Thank God, death will soon come to save me from beggary.' Cf. his 
humorous anticipation of beggary, Ep. Z>., 29-56, p. 11. 

103 55. Willie Pitt : see Ep.J. S., 134, p. 83. 

103 62. barges : ref. to a recent discussion in Parliament over sup- 
plies for the navy, in which reductions were proposed to curtail expenses. 
England was even then ' Mistress of the Seas.' 

104 82. Potentate 0^ Wales : Prince of Wales, afterwards George 
IV, for whom see Thackeray's Eozcr Georges. 

104 89. rattPd dice wi^ Charlie : Charles James Fox, the statesman, 
whom Burns had already stigmatized in his Earnest Cry and Prayer : 

* Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' knocks ; 
But gie him 't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the cadie ! 
An' send him to his dicin box 

An' sportin lady.' 

104 95. him at Agincourt : 141 5; Henry V, formerly the wild 
* prince Hal ' who held revels in Eastcheap with Falstaff (' funny queer 
Sir John ') ; see Shakspere's Henry IV. 



216 NOTES. 

105 100. Osnaburg : Frederick, first a Bishop and afterwards Duke 
of York. 

105 109. Tarry Breaks : Prince William Henry, afterwards King 
William IV, who was in the navy. In his youth he married Mrs. 
Jordan, an actress. 

105 124. sma^ : either *■ of small account,' or ' petty princelings.' 

105 130. bitter sautet : Allan Cunningham discovered prophecy in 
this, referring to the malady of the King's last years. 

106 131-135. I have seen petted children sulk over a full dish, who 
were by and by glad to scrape it out clean. 



ON A SCOTCH BARD (1786, June). 

Burns's early departure for the Indies was now decided upon, and he had 
begun to bid his farewells. This one is conspicuous for its playfulness, 
though it can hardly be said to ' shine out cheerfully.' He laughs, but 
there is a dash of bitterness in the laughter. The gaiety is rendered all 
the more effective by an undertone of seriousness, and by a sadness 
that he only makes believe to laugh away. 

106 2. crambo-clink: cf. 'crambo-jingle,' Ep.J. Z., 45, p. 28. 

106 3. and never think : poets are with Burns ' the thoughtless 
clan.' In an Epistle to Major Loga7i, 31-36, he says, — 

* A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
And never think o' right or wrang 

By square or rule, 

But as the clegs o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool.' 

107 34. Ill may she be : Burns mixed some very hard feelings with 
his vexation at Jean ; see his letters of this time. 

107 43-48. Cf. what he says of himself in Ep. D., Ep. /. Z., Ep. 
W. S., etc. 

108 53. He wad na : see Address to the Deil, last stanza, p. 20. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH (1786, June). 

This poem closes the Kilmarnock volume. It represents one of those 
times of keen introspection that are frequent in both Burns's poems and 



NOTES, IVl 

his letters. His self-examinations are seldom morbid, and of this one 
Wordsworth said, — ' Here is a sincere and solemn avowal — a confession 
at once devout, poetical, and human — a history in the shape of a 
prophecy.' In The Vision he measured himself with pride as a man of 
genius; in the U)ico Guid he held before the poor sinner a shield of 
scorn for his accusers. Here pride and scorn are laid aside, and he 
reads his own weaknesses with a manly humility and pathetic truth which 
turn the sting of every assault upon his character. 

108 1. Is there: cf. the closing entry in his Covun. PL Bk., Oct. 5, 
1785. 

108 9. area : var. arena. The country churchyard is meant, lying 
round the church; 'weekly,' therefore, means 'every Sunday,' when 
the people come to church. 

108 13-16. So in his second Epistle to Davie, he says, — 

' An' whiles, but aye owre late, I think 
Braw sober lessons.' 



THE BRIGS OF AYR (1786, September). 

The old bridge of Ayr is one of the most ancient historic structures 
in Scotland, and the date cut on the parapet, 1232, is generally ac- 
cepted as authentic. To relieve this, a new bridge was planned and 
was in process of erection when Burns wrote this poem (see 11. 46, 59- 
60, 68). Mr. John Ballantyne, then Provost, a friend of Burns, was 
chiefly instrumental in having the new bridge built, and to him the poem 
is dedicated in lines similar to the dedication to Mr. Robert Aiken that 
prefaces The Cotter's Saturday Alght. The old bridge is still in use, and 
only in the summer of 1894 its foundations were successfully repaired 
and strengthened. The line, 

' I '11 be a Brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! ' 

seems likely to be prophetic, for in 1877 a spate almost proved fatal to 
the New Brig. 

Like The Vision, this poem is unequal. There is the same introduc- 
tion of incongruous matter, and the same blending of Scotch and 
English, with a similar uncertainty of stroke in the use of the latter. 

The influence of Fergusson is marked. There is no mere borrowing, 
but the poem takes something of its plan, character, and finish from the 



218 NOTES. 

Dialogue between Brandy and Whisky, from The Ghaists, and from the 
better known Mutual Coinplaint of Plainstanes and Causey. 

109 2. thack and rape : the stacks of grain are thatched with straw 
and the thatch is then roped down. See also T. Z>., ']%^ note. 

109 3. Potato-bings : long heaps, covered with straw and then with 
earth against winter ; the covered heaps are called ' tatie-pits.' 

109 9. death . . . smoorM : Gram. ace. to sense; see Gram. Introd. 

109 10. For Burns's detestation of field-sj)orts and sympathy with 
the lower animals, see Gen. Introd., § VI (b). 

110 19. half-lang : half-grown, a corruption of Z/^;//?/;/. 
110 25. ancient brugh : see The V., S6, note. 

110 26. By whim inspired : cf. * whim-inspired fool,' Bard^s Ep.^ i, 
p. io8. 

110 28. Simpson^s : 'a noted tavern at the Aiild Brig-end.' — B. 

110 33. Dungeon-clock : orig. written * Steeple-clock,' the steeple 
being over the old jail. It exists no longer. 

110 34. Wallace Tower: the other steeple, a piece of antique 
masonry surmounted by a spire in the High Street. It was removed 
in 1835, ^^^ ^ ^^^^^ Wallace tower occupies its place. 

110 35-36. Noteworthy as one of Burns's few references to the sea; 
cf. The v., 21 1-2, p. 90, where the language is curiously like this. 

110 40. gently crusting: the 'infant ice' serves another purpose 
later on, 1. 175. 

111 53. Pictish : popularly applied in Scotland to very ancient 
structures. ' Gothic ' is similarly loose here ; cf. Vandal, 1. ']y 

111 58. Adams: the architect. The next couplet refers to the 'ris- 
ing piers ' above, 1. 46. 

Ill 66. down the water : the new bridge is about 100 yards below. 
Ill 69. as me : quite good Scotch ; cf. the French use of nioi. 
Ill 74. much about it: idiomatic for 'much the same.' 

111 75-76. This couplet is not in the MS.; if it was inserted in 
proof-correction, it was a remarkably happy second thought. 

112 79. Ducat-stream : ' a noted ford just above the Auld Brig.' — B. 
112 86. I 41 be a Brig : see Introd. note. 

112 94. haunted Garpal : 'ghaists still inhabit there.' — B. 
\Yl 99. Glenbuck . . . Ratton-Key: i.e., 'from source to mouth.' 
* Key ' = quay. 

112 102. The w^hole ' Poussin-like' picture is a striking one of a 
Scotch stream in a ' spate.' See Carlyle's Essay on Burns. 

113 110. groves : a description of Gothic architecture in general, the 
idea of whose columns and arched recesses is taken from the woods. 



NOTES. 219 

113 115. Forms [that] might: the Second Commandment forbids 
worshipping any likeness of anything *in heaven above, or the earth 
beneath, or the waters under the earth.' 

113 119. mason: used as an adj., 'that builds.' 

113 122. cuifs : ref. to the Auld Licht Puritans. 

113 133. godly brethren : in the pre-Reformation times Ayr had two 
monasteries. Cf. 1. 120, above. 

113 135. A dig at the easy-going lawyers of his own day. 

113 136. aboon the broo : over the water. 

114 151. mak to through: 'succeed in making through with, or 
good.' 

114 157. odd: the rhyme originally stood, 'bodies . . . odious.' 
114 159. Citizen: the 'city gent' of Ep. Lapraik, II, 61 ; contemp- 
tuously shortened into 'cit.' in Ep. J. S., 135, p. 84: 

' Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit.' 

114 171. A fairy train : this is like a flash from A Midstwimer 
Nighfs Drea?n ; the incongruity lies in the later application, 11. 201-6. 

115 178. M'Lauchlan: 'a well-know^n performer of Scottish music 
on the violin.' — B. 

115 180. strathspeys: commonly called 'Scotch reels'; but the 
strathspey is the slow movement; the reel, the quick time that follows. 
The name is taken from the Strath (or valley) of the river Spey (Inver- 
nesshire). 

115 181. melting airs : those to w^hich Burns wrote his songs. 

115 201. Courage : the Montgomeries, famous in battle story, are 
here complimented, esp. " Soger Hugh " ; the Teal passes their country 
seat, Coilsfield House. 

116 203. Benevolence: Mrs. Stewart of Stair, one of his earliest 
patrons. 

116 205. Learning and Worth : Dugald Stew^art of Catrine House, 
professor of Mental Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. Dining- 
with him. Burns met his first 'lord ' ; see next selection. 

The poem breaks off abruptly, but the subject is not one suited for 
expanded treatment. It offers little evidence for or against Burns's 
ability to handle elaborate work. As a matter of fact. Burns never did 
produce an extended work, but it would be rash criticism to afiirm that 
the author of \.\\q /oily Beggars had no genius that way. 



220 NOTES. 



LORD DAER (1786, October). 

Being introduced to Professor Stewart by Dr. Mackenzie of Mauch- 
line, Burns was invited to dine at Catrine House (see B. A., 205, note), 
and there met Lord Daer, son and heir-apparent of the Earl of Selkirk, 
who incidentally called. This was the poet's first interview with a 
member of the British aristocracy, and he was agreeably disappointed 
in his impressions. Two days later he sent the verses to Dr. Mac- 
kenzie, with a note saying that they were ' really exte7np07'e^ but a little 
corrected since.' 

116 13. stand out, my shin : as in a pompous stage-strut. 

117 29. what surprised me: for his preconceived notions of such 
rank, see T. D., p. 71. 

117 .31. watched: i.e., looked for. 

117 34. Repeated from his description of Cccsar {T. Z>., 16, p. 71). 

117 37. Upon this he acted when he entered the world of rank and 
fashion in Lxlinburgh. 

The immediate success of his volume did not at once affect the poet's 
plans for emigration. He bought a passage to Jamaica, sent his bag- 
gage to Greenock, wrote a last farewell song, — The Gloomy Night is 
GatheriJig Fast, and otherwise prepared to go. His departure was 
staved off mainly by receipt of a letter written by Dr. Blacklock, the 
blind poet of Edinburgh, who expressed the demand for a second 
edition, and recommended a visit to the capital, then a strong literary 
centre. lUirns tried his Kilmarnock printer, but the latter declined the 
risk. He continued to harp on the Jamaica string for a whole year to 
come, but the prospect of Edinburgh and the flattering recognition of 
Dr. Blacklock allured him and unsettled his plans. Finally he rather 
drifted to the capital, in the uncertain hope that something, probably a 
place on the Excise, might come of it. 



A WINTER NIGHT (1786, November). 

He sent a copy of this poem to Provost Ballantyne of Ayr on Novem- 
ber 20, exactly one week before the author set out for Edinburgh. 

Like the Brigs of Ay 7' , this poem opens with vigorous Scotch, pity for 
the suffering animals being another point of identity, and passes into 
ambitious English. That Burns could write effective English is abun- 



NOTES. 221 

dantly proved, but here he drops into a bombastic imitation of the 
eighteenth-century ode. The motive is genuine, but both sentiment and 
language are yeasty. The Scotch portion is as strong, beautiful, and 
true descriptive writing as he ever produced. The opening description is 
modeled on Fergusson's Daft Days. 

118 25. you : anticipated from 'you ' in 1. 30. Forces are meant. 

118 37. Blow, blow : paraphrased from the song in As You Like It : 

' Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude,' etc. 

119 44. The three stilted strophes in irregular metre which follow are 
in the mood of Man was Made to Moi0'7i. The return to common sense 
in ' I heard,' etc., is as happy as it is natural. 

120 93-96. This furnished Coleridge with the closing thought of the 
Ancie7it Mariner^ — 

' He prayeth best who loveth best,' etc. 

On the 28th of November Burns entered Edinburgh and took up his 
abode in a poor lodging. His fame had preceded him. His acquaint- 
ance with Professor Stewart almost immediately gave him entree to the 
world of letters. Another of the Ayrshire gentry introduced him to the 
Earl of Glencairn, who immediately led him into the world of fashion. 
In a few weeks his wonderful personality had brought the whole capi- 
tal to his feet. Presently Henry Mackenzie (author of the Man of 
Feeli7tg) announced in the Lounger the rise of a new poetic genius; 
Lord Glencairn introduced him to the favor of Creech, the publisher ; 
the gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt took up the subscription list, 
and the financial success of a new edition was assured. Meanwhile the 
poet collected material hitherto unpublished and produced some new 
work. 



TO A HAGGIS (1786, December). 

On December 20 it appeared in the Caledonian Mercury, a long- 
established Scottish newspaper, though not the first by a century. 

A Haggis is a peculiarly Scottish dish, consisting of a mixture of oat- 
meal, chopped meat, suet, and seasoning, boiled in the stomach of a 
sheep; the chopped meat is usually the vitals of the same animal. 
Allan Cunningham comments: ' The vehement nationality of this poem 
is but a small part of its merit. The haggis of the north is the mince- 



222 NOTES. 

pie of the south. Both are characteristic of the people; the ingredients 
which compose the former are all of Scottish growth, including the bag 
which contains them; the ingredients of the latter are gathered from 
the four quarters of the globe. The haggis is the triumph of poverty ; 
the mince-pie the triumph of wealth.' 

121 ]. Fair fa' : ' fair befal,' a form of good greeting. 

121 6. as lang *s my arm : cf. ' like a tether/ H. F., 215 (note). 

121 9. pin : the wooden pin used for fixing the opening of the 
haggis. 

121 13. dight : pron. ' dicht,' = ' wipe.' 

121 19. horn for horn : ' spoonful for spoonful '; the horns are horn- 
spoons, and they helped themselves out of a common dish in the middle 
of the table. 

121 Q4. Bethanket : ' grace after meat '; cf. the ' Selkirk ' grace, — 



Some hae meat that canna eat 



And some wad eat that want it ; 
it we hae meat, and we can eat, 
An' sae the Lord be thanket^ 



121 25. Cf. the contempt he pours wdth similar good nature on 
French brandy, Sc. Dr., 79, p. 66. 

122 33. ' His spindle leg no thicker than a good whip lash.' 
122 43. Ye powers : in the Mercury this verse ran, — 

' Ye powers wha gie us a that 's gude, 
Still bless auld Caledonia's brood 
Wi' great John Barley-corn's heart's blude 

In stoups an' luggies ; 
And on our board that king o' food, 

A glorious haggice.' 

Chambers asserted that this was an impromptu grace, out of which 
the * Address ' grew. 



TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE (1787, 

March). 

This lady, Mrs. Scott, struck with the power displayed in the Kilmar- 
nock volume, addressed to Burns a clever epistle in rhyme, in which she 
affected to doubt that he was ' wi' plowmen schooled, wi' plowmen fed.' 



NOTES. 223 

' Gude troth, your saul and body baith 
Were better fed, I '11 gie my aith, 
Than theirs wha sup sour milk an' parritch, 
And bummle through the single carritch,' 

(i.e., single or shorter catechism). Burns in reply tells how he came to 
be a poet. In his autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore (Aug. 2, 1787), 
he repeated the substance of this poem, and gave at length the episode 
of ' Handsome Nell.' 

122 3. thresh the barn: thresh the grain crop with the flail; cf. F., 
6, note. 

122 4. yokin : from 6 to 11 a.m. is the forenoon, and from i to 6 
P.M. the afternoon ' yoking.' 

122 5. forfoughten : in his autob. letter he calls it the * unceasing 
moil of a galley slave.' 

123 10. rig and lass : it was the country custom to pair off men and 
women on the harvest field ; a pair took a ' rig ' between them. 

123 15-20. For this early patriotic ambition, cf. Ep. W.S. and notes, 
and see also The Vision^ Duan Second. 

123 29. the elements 0' sang: cf. F!, 117, — 

' Thy rudely carolled chiming phrase 
In uncouth rhymes.' 

123 32. that hairst ... my partner : see above. He was then 
fifteen, and the girl was Nelly Kilpatrick, — 'Handsome Nell' of his 
first song. ' Among her other love-inspiring qualities she sang sweetly, 
and it w^as her favorite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied 
vehicle in rhyme.' — {Letter to D. M.) 

124 53. Ye ^re wae men : cf. G7'ee7i Grow the Rashes, — 

' For you sae douce, ye sneer at this ; 
Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O.' 

124 57. For you : ref. to Mrs. Scott's epistle ; she was the wife of a 
country laird, and therefore not bred to feeding and milking cows. 

124 60. marPd plaid : note the rolled r. She had said in her 
epistle, — 

' O gif I ken'd but where ye baide, 
I 'd send to you a marled plaid.' 

Burns called at Wauchope-House on his border tour, but was not 
charmed with the 'guidwife,' nor do we hear more of the plaid. 



224 NOTES, 

124 61. ware: worn. This is Burns, but it is neither Scots nor 
English; Douglas has a preterite 'ware.' 

124 65. ' Than any one w^hom ermine ever covered.' 

Early in the year the Earl of Buchan advised Burns to * fire his muse 
at Scottish story.' The poet answered that he ' wished for nothing 
more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through his native country, 
. . . and, catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song.' 
But Prudence, he says, counsels differently. * I must return to my 
humble station and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plow- 
tail.' — {^Letter to the Earl of Btichan^ Feb. 3, 1787). 

Still the proceeds of his Edinburgh edition enabled him partially to 
satisfy his longing. May and part of June he spent in a tour over the 
Border country, and on August 25 he started with William Nichol 
(who afterwards brewed the peck o' maut) on a tour through part of 
the Northern Highlands. With Burns the Border tour was poetically 
unproductive ; it remained for Scott to reawaken the Border minstrelsy. 
But the Highlands, besides touching the romantic chord of Burns's 
Jacobite fancy, brought his mind more finely into tune with the old 
Scottish melodies. He was now returning to pure song, and for the 
rest of his life songs were to form, with only one exception of first im- 
portance, the entire bulk of his poeJ:ical production. On May 4 he had 
begun his connection with Johnson's Musical Museuni^ to which he 
contributed in all 184 songs. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY (1787, Aug. 30). 

' I composed these stanzas standing under the Falls of Moness, near 
Aberfeldy.' — B. They are partly an echo of an old Aberdeenshire 
ditty, The Birks of Abergeldy. The melody is old Scottish, and bears 
the impression of the ancient scale. 



HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER (1787, Sept. 5). 

Passing through the north of Perthshire, Burns spent two days at 
Blair-Athole with the Duke and his family. Athole entertained him 
with Highland hospitality, and on his departure recommended a visit to 
the falls of Bruar. Burns went, and found that they w^ere * exceedingly 
picturesque and beautiful, but their effect was much impaired by the 



NOTES. 225 

want of trees and shrubs.' Three days later he sent this poem to Mr. 
Walker, the Duke's family tutor, afterwards professor of Latin in the 
University of Edinburgh. 

126 11. spouts : spoutings or leapings. 

126 26. twisting strength : ' A happy picture of the upper part of 
the fall.'— ?F^//vr. 

127 34. wishes : the petition was, of course, granted. 

127 47. robin : the Scotch robin, the redbreast, is a different bird 
from the American, and is about the size of a sparrow. It is Scotland's 
only song-bird in late autumn, and its soft, clear trill is in fine accord 
with the ' pensive ' season. 

128 62. hour of heaven : hour of heavenly bliss. 

128 69. reaper^s nightly beam: light of the harvest moon. 

128 71. darkly dashing : an Ossianic epithet. Under the circum- 
stances, it shows how closely Burns observed. 

128 81-88. * The Duke's fine family attracted much of his admira- 
tion ; he drank their health as " honest men and bonie lasses," an idea 
which was much applauded by the company.' — Walker. 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON (1787, October.) 

This was composed to one of the melodies he picked up on his 
northern tour, — * True old Highland,' a Gaelic air he heard sung at In- 
verness, Banner ach dhon a chri. The heroine was Charlotte Hamil- 
ton, sister of his friend Gavin (the ' Gau'n ' of Ep. AVM., 25, p. 44). 
The song is ' singular as a compliment to a handsome w^oman, in which 
he did not assume the character of a lover.' — Lockhart. See also 
Fairest Maid on Devon Banks, note. 

129 3-4. ' Miss Charlotte Hamilton . . . was born on the banks of 
the Ayr, but was, at the time I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, 
on the romantic banks of the little river Devon.' — B. 



BLYTHE, BLYTHE AND MERRY WAS SHE (1787, October). 

* I composed these verses while I stayed at Ochtertyre with Sir 
William Murray. The lady . . . was the well-known toast, Miss 
Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, the Flower of Strathmore.' — B. 



226 NOTES. 

The air is that of the old song Andro a7i'' his Cutty Giin^ which gave 
Burns the first two lines and the strain of the last stanza. 

129 2. Yarrow banks : taken for poetic associations. See Gala 
Water. 
129 6. but and ben : 'all over the house she made gladness/ 

129 8. Glenturit: pron. ttir7'et. In this wild glen was Loch Turit, 
the scene of his lines On Scaring Wildfowl. 

130 17. Cf. the last four lines of the old song, — 

' I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been far ayont the sun, 
But the blythest lad that e'er I saw 
Was Andro wi' his cutty gun.' 



MTHERSON'S FAREWELL (1787, October). 

Another of the themes he brought with him from the north. James 
Macpherson was a famous Highland reaver, who, after terrorizing several 
counties, was taken and hanged on the Gallow Hill of Banff in 1700. 
There is a tradition that he was skilled in music and poetry, and that 
while lying in prison he composed the air and song, Macpherson^ s Rant ; 
at the place of execution he played the Rant., and then broke the violin 
over his knee. His sword is preserved at Duff House, Banff. 

The tame ballad given in Herd's Collection (I, 99), bears, beyond the 
subject, no relation to this ' wild, stormful song.' Burns drew the chorus 
and the idea from another Rant. 

* I 've spent my time in rioting, 

Debauched my health and strength ; 
I squandered fast as pillage came. 
And fell to shame at length. 
But dantonly and wantonly 
And rantonly I '11 gae, 
I '11 play a tune and dance it roun' 
Beneath the gallows' tree.' 



MY HOGGIE (1787). 

This was written for Johnson (see note preceding The Birks of Aber- 
feldy) to a melody which he picked up from the ' diddling ' of an old 



NOTES. Ill 

woman in Liddesdale. She said its name was, ' What '// / do gin my 
hoggie die ? ' It was a favorite of Sir Walter Scott's. 

Cromek {Select Scottish Songs) remarks that it is 'a silly subject 
treated sublimely.' Without conceding either the silliness or the 
sublimity, the reader may recognize the tenderness of Poor Mailie in- 
vested in humorously tragic array of dark and vague circumstance. 

131 1. Hoggie : a ' hogg ' is a sheep before it has lost its first fleece. 



TO HUGH PARKER (1788, June). 

Having realized about ^500 from his Edinburgh edition. Burns gave 
his brother Gilbert ;^i8o to help him at Mossgiel, and himself took a 
lease of the poetically fine but agriculturally wretched farm of Ellisland, 
March 13. He arrived at Ellisland June 12. In April he had been 
regularly married to Jean Armour, and now he was preparing a home 
for her. He was getting a new house built, and meanwhile had only 
the accommodation described in the text. 

132 2. unknown to rhyme : ' As for the Muses, they [the people 
hereabout] have as much idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet.' — Letter to 
Mr. Bengo, Sept. 9, 1788. 

132 11. peat: used in the hill districts of Scotland as a substitute 
for coal; it is dug from the mosses, cut into blocks, and then dried and 
stacked. 

132 17. Gallowa' : Galloway is the older name for the extreme 
southwest counties of Scotland, in one of which Ellisland lies. 

132 18. Jenny Geddes : name of the mare he rode on his border 
tour and after; for a description of her, see A. M. M.^ note. 

132 21. westlin : towards Ayrshire, where Jean was. 

133 36. cast saut upo^ thy tail : i.e., get near enough to catch or 
overtake. He uses the same phrase in his Scotch letter to W. Nichol, 
already quoted (see A. M. J/., p. 67). 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW (1788, June). 

Burns had hoped for some kind of an honest living to come out of 
all the huge admiration he received in Edinburgh, something that might 
enable him to realize his genius. Nothing came, and he was now more 
than ever unfit for farming. It was in this bitterness of disappoint- 



228 NOTES. 

ment (see his Letters) that he began farmmg on Ellisland, and no better 
illustration of his elastic temper can be found than the perfect happiness 
of this love-lyric in which he greets his coming wife. Mrs. Burns was 
then with the poet's mother and sisters at Mossgiel, learning dairy matters. 

133 5-8. The first draft of these four lines may be found in an 
earlier fragment, beginning ' Though Cruel Fate.' 

* Though mountains rise and deserts howl, 
And oceans roar between. 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 
I still would love my Jean.' 

133 16. The sixteen lines usually sung in addition to those of the 
text were written by Mr. John Hamilton of Edinburgh, who later con- 
tributed to Scott's Border Minstrelsy. 

' O blaw, ye wastlin winds, blaw saft, 

Amang the leafy trees. 
Wi balmy gale, frae muir and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees : 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That 's aye sae neat an' clean ; 
Ae bRnk o' her wad banish care, 

Sae lovely is my Jean. 

' What sighs an' vows amang the knowes 

Hae passed at ween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The powers aboon alane can ken 

To whom the heart is seen. 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet, lovely Jean.' 



AULD LANG SYXE (1788, December). 

Sent to Mrs. Dunlop in a letter of December 17. When sending a 
copy of it to Thomson (September, 1793), Burns affected that he had 
taken down ' this olden song of the olden time from an old man's sing- 
ing.' The phrase, ' Auld lang syne,' is traditional; so likewise is the 
melody, and from time unknown there have been words to it. To Mrs. 
Dunlop, Burns spoke of it as a fragment, — ' Light be the turf on the 
breast of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious frag- 



NOTES. 119 

ment.* But Burns knew Allan Ramsay's version of the song, and per- 
haps also Sempill's — perhaps one even earlier than Sempill's. The 
earliest known begins, — 

' Should old acquaintance be forgot 
A nd never thought upon ? 
The flames of love extinguished 
And freely past and gone ? ' 

This is attributed to Francis, son of Robert, Sempill (see notes to P. J/.), 
and occurs in A Choice Selection of Comic and Se^'ious Scots Foe7?is, 
edited by James Watson (Edin., 17 13). Ramsay's version, distinguished 
by eighteenth-century classicism, begins, — 

' Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
Though they return with scars ? 
These are the noble hero's lot, 
Obtained in glorious wars.' 

134 9. And surely : in Thomson's Collectio7i this stanza is placed 
last ; the order of the text is that of Johnson's Museum. 

134 23. guid-willie waught : this is sometimes erroneously written 
* guid willie-waught' : there is no such word. 



GO FETCH TO ME A PINT O' WINE (1788, December). 

Sent to Mrs. Dunlop, along with the preceding, as 'two old stanzas,' 
which, he said, pleased him mightily. The first four lines are old ; for 
the rest, he is said to have been inspired by seeing a young soldier, 
ordered abroad, taking leave of his sweetheart on the ' pier o' Leith.' 

135 5. Leith : the ' Piraeus' of the 'Modern Athens.' 

135 6. frae the Ferry : i.e., seaward, from Queensferry up the 
Firth. 

135 7. Berwick-law : a conspicuous hill near the shore by North 
Berwick, and a landmark for sailors. For 'law,' see Vocab. 

135 12. deep : var. ' thick,' but ' deep ' sings better. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO (1789, some time before July). 

This was a very old song, reworked by Burns. The melody was origi- 
nally a solemn chant. In Reformation times in Scotland it was 
quickened and fitted with a set of ribald words. This ribald version 



230 ^ NOTES. 

prevailed until Burns rescued the lovely melody and clothed it anew in 
words that idealize and glorify their subject for all time. This is, more- 
over, the very best example of the purification Burns gave to Scottish 
song. 

The minor mode of the air suggests pathos, but the sentiment of the 
song is one of supreme happiness. In Allan's drawing, which illus- 
trated the song in Thomson's work, ' the old couple are seated by the 
fireside, the gude-wife in great good humor is clapping John's shoulder, 
while he smiles and looks at her with such glee as to show that he 
fully recollects the pleasant days when they were "first acquent." ' — 
Letter of Thomson to Bitms^ August, 1793. 

135 1. my jo: 'my sweetheart.' The punctuation, 'my jo John,' 
makes no sense. For 'jo,' see Vocab. 

135 4, 5. The discrepancy between the two brows, the ' brent ' and 
the 'beld,' need not cause difficulty. 



TAM GLEN (17S9). 

Mrs. Begg, Burns's sister, declared that this was an old song 
retouched. But of the old song nothing is known except the burden, 
and in the Afuseian the song appears with Burns's name. Its naivete 
is unique, though not unlike that of Last May a Braw Wooer. 

136 6. In poortith : this was the gospel Burns preached in the 
Bachelor's Club at Tarbolton. 

136 ]0. **Guid-day to you/^ — brute! This is sometimes punctu- 
ated " Giiid-day to you ^ brute ! " and defended on the ground that ' brute ' 

was a familiar salutation of Lord K , the subject of John Rankine's 

curious dream : ' Gae 'wa wi' ye,' quoth Satan, ' ye canna be here; ye 're 
ane o' Lord K 's d — d brutes; hell 's fou o' them already.' 

136 19. ordained : the word has a theological flavor, fore-ordination 
being a leading idea in the Scotch religious economy. 

137 21. valentines^ dealing : alluding to the custom of writing names 
of lads and lasses on separate slips and drawing partners. 

137 25. Halloween : see H., 21 5, p. 62, and Burns's note. ' Waukin ' 
is, of course, * waking,' to watch the sark-sleeve. 



NOTES. 231 



WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT (1789, September). 

In the summer of 1789 Burns and Allan Masterton, the musician, 
went to visit William Nichol (the hot-headed schoolmaster who ruled 
Burns on his northern tour), who was then spending his vacation at 
Moffat. They held a symposium, in celebration of which Burns wrote 
this song and Masterton composed the air. The Burns punch-bowl in 
the British Museum has nothing to do with this * browst.' 

137 2. see : the commoner, but less authentic, reading is 'pree.' 

138 19. first : some versions read ' last,' and Burns once quotes it, 
with 'last 'in italics, but there is reason to believe that he changed for 
the occasion. 

Baroness Nairne succeeded in having this song debarred from Smith's 
Scottish Minstrel. She might have better turned the point of its 
imagined tendencies by getting Smith to quote below^ it a verse written 
some years later by John Struthers as a sequel : 

'■ Nae mair in learnin Willie toils, nor Allan wakes the meltin lay, 
Nor Rob, wi fancy-witchin wiles, beguiles the hour o' dawnin day ; 
For tho' they were na very fou, that wicked ' wee drap in the ee ' 
Has done its turn : untimely now the green grass waves o'er a' the three.' 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN (1789, October). 

For Mary Campbell, see notes to To Mary. Burns did not know of 
Mary's illness until some days after her death. They had parted in 
May ; Mary died in October. In the interval Mary had drifted from 
Burns's life, and in the excitements that then surrounded him he had 
forgotten her. But the shock of her sudden death, and perhaps a sting 
of remorse, so affected his emotional mind that her memory became to 
him ever after a sacred idealization. 

The melodramatic account of the composition of this lyric accords 
well with the rest of the romance that surrounds Mary's name. On the 
anniversary of Mary's death he was observed by his wife to 'grow sad 
about something, and to wander solitary on the banks of the Nith and 
about his farmyard in the extremest agitation of mind nearly the whole 
night. He screened himself on the lee side of a corn-stack from the 
cutting edge of the night wind, and lingered till approaching dawn 
wiped out the stars one by one from the firmament.' Finally, after 



232 NOTES. 

repeated entreaties of his wife, he entered, and wrote the lines as they 
now stand. 

138 1. lingering star: this is the *one planet that shone like 
another moon' of the legend. 

138 17. Ayr : the spot is still pointed out, — ' a grove more patheti- 
cally hallowed than the fountain of Vaucluse or Julie's bosque. There 
is no spot in Scotland so created for a modern idyl, none leaves us with 
such an impression of perfect peace as this, w^here the river, babbling 
over a shelf of pebbles to the left, then hushed through " birch and 
hawthorn " and Narcissus willows, murmuring on heedless of the near 
and noisy world, keeps the memory green of our minstrel and his 
Mary.' — Nichol's Monograph on Burns. 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK (1789, October 21). 

It was he who practically turned the drift of the poet's life (see note 
preceding W. N^, and he remained true to Burns till his death in 1791. 
This epistle was written in answer to a friendly letter, also in rhyme, from 
the blind poet, August 24. We trace in it something of the bitter humor 
of that Extemporaneous EffusioJi^ — 

' Searchin auld wives' barrels, 
Ochone the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels 1 ' 

But the Excise had been Burns's early choice. His thoughts first w^ent 
that way during the dark days of 1786. The subject comes up repeatedly 
during his Edinburgh season and later. With a return to farming in 
view, he partially gave up the Excise idea, but a single season's experi- 
ence of EUisland convinced him that on farming and poetry alone he 
and his family would come to grief, and on September 10, 1788, he begged 
Mr. Graham of Fintry to get him placed. In a letter to Miss Peggy 
Chalmers, September 16, he says, — * If I could set all before your 
view, whatever disrespect you, in common with the world, have for this 
business, I know you would approve my idea.' After waiting another 
year, he acknowledges receipt of his appointment in a * sonnet ' dated 
August 10, 1789, and then in his Extemporaneous Effusion gives his 
reason for accepting it, — 

' Thae movin things ca'd wives an' weans 
Would move the very hearts o' stanes.' 

He entered on his duties probably in the beginning of November. 



NOTES. 233 

139 5. as weel 's I want ye : a formula of health-drinking ; ' want ' 
= * wish.' 

139 7. Heron : Robert Heron, author of a History of Scotland and 
of a Life of Burns. 

140 21. Parnassian queens : to Mr. Graham he writes on November 
9, — ' I do not find my hurried life greatly inimical to my correspondence 
with the Muses. Their visits . . . are short and far between ; but I 
meet them now and then as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale, just 
as I used to do on the banks of Ayr.' The muses did not desert him 
to his dying hour, but that gaugership was as detrimental to Burns as 
it was discreditable to his country. For queens some editors read 
' queires ' = ' books.' 

140 25. damies : * dames,' the ' Parnassian queens ' above. 

140 35. sned besoms : in the country, brooms are made of furze or 
< broom.' The plant is cut ('sned'), the twigs bound together and 
trimmed, and this head fastened to a handle. The heather plant is 
similarly utilized. These articles are made by travelling tinkers, and 
sold as ' besoms,' the distinction being ' broom-besoms ' and * heather- 
besoms.' The name 'broom' always refers to the plant — never, by 
itself, in Scotch, to the article. — thraw saugh woodies : ' twist willow 
ropes,' ' make wicker-baskets,' another occupation of the travelling tinker, 
whom Burns had in mind. 

140 39. Not but : the full idiomatic expression is ' no but what.' 

140 41-42. Cf. his Epistle to Davie ^ p. lo. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON (1790, 

July). 

Of this gentleman little is known except that he was an honored 
citizen of Edinburgh, and devoted to 'a friend and a bottle.' Bums's 
very high regard for him is shown in the sub-title to the poem. On 
Henderson's death, Nov. 21, 1788, Burns composed 'an elegiac stanza 
or two,' and now he returned to the subject and completed this Elegy. 
The incongruous opening no doubt belongs to the earlier effort. The 
descriptive detail of the poem is wonderfully close, true, and graphic, 
and in spite of the invocation, ' Mourn,' the character of the composi- 
tion is descriptive rather than elegiac; as an elegy it lacks object. Con- 
trast, in this respect, Shelley's Adonais. 

One MS. has, instead of the motto given in the text, — 

' Should the poor be flattered ? ' 

ShaksPere. 



234 NOTES. 

TAM O' SHANTER (1790, October). 

When Captain Grose was at Carse House, working up his A^ttiquities 
of Scotland, Burns suggested to him that he should include Alloway 
Kirk, and roused his interest by relating witch stories connected with it. 
Grose agreed to do so if Burns would write him letterpress to accompany 
the picture. Burns sent him three legends in prose and the tale of Tarn 
o' Skajitery in which he gives the second legend and part of the third in 
verse. 

This was his first and only tale, just as the Jolly Beggars was his 
only effort towards drama, and between these two, critics have been 
divided in determining his masterpiece. Carlyle, Arnold, and others 
have given the preference to the Jolly Beggars ; Scott and Burns him* 
self decided in favor of Tarn <?' Shanter. There is no need to choose. 
The kind of art is different ; and if the one connects his genius with 
him who created the comedy of Eastcheap, the other as surely allies 
him with the author of the Canterbury Tales. 

The composition is said to have been finished in one day, — * the best 
day's work done in Scotland since Bannockburn,' Carlyle says. Through 
the colored haze of tradition we can see Burns gesticulating with ex- 
citement, and believe that his wife saw the tears ' happin owre his 
cheeks.' 

145 1. chapman billies : the fairs in Scotland are a harvesting time 
for all sorts of travelling hucksters; they carry their wares and a stall 
with them, and follow the market-days from town to town; the stalls 
are ranged along the side of the street. 

145 5. we sit : Burns had been there, and he sympathetically 
includes the reader in *we.' 

145 22. market-day : ref. to the weekly market. What with market- 
days, meal-makings, horse-shoeings, and occasional Sundays, Tam had 
not much time to get sober. 

145 25-26. The construction is, — * that the smith and you got roaring 
full on [the occasion of] every naig on [which] a shoe was ca'd.' 

145 28. Kirkton : a common name for the village or farm near the 
kirk; here, however, it may mean Kirkoswald, a place which even now 
lays proud claim to the originals of all the characters, even 'Cutty- 
Sark.' For proximity of kirk and tavern, cf. H. F., 1 54, p. 40. 

146 32. haunted kirk : this is the first Hnk between the human and 
the supernatural in the poem; the second occurs 11. 77-78. Carlyle 
strangely says that this chasm is ' nowhere bridged over.' 



NOTES. 235 

146 40. drank divinely : one thinks of the old Teutonic blood, and 
the gods of old who loved their ale. 

146 41. Souter Johnie: as the Souter lived in Ayr, Tarn must have 
absented himself from home during the * weeks ' he and the souter had 
been * fou thegither.' No wonder Kate scolded. 

146 59-66. This curious streak of sentimental English in a poem 
otherwise Scotch and humorous is intelligible in Burns, who never hesi- 
tated to combine the most conflicting emotions. But here the success 
of the experiment is open to question. 

147 71-78. Taken from the first legend sent to Grose, — * a stormy 
night amid whistling squalls of wind and bitter blasts of hail, — in short, 
on such a night as the devil would choose to take the air in.' 

147 84. crooning . . . Scots sonnet : * Scots ' is the more correct form 
of the adj., still preserved in ' Scots law,' ' Scots guards,' etc. The form 
* Scottish' is also legitimate, but 'Scotch' is a later corruption to suit 
the parallel forms ' French,' ' Welsh,' etc. Sonnet is used in its freer 
sense. It is a question whether it was the swats or fear that made 
Tam sing. 

147 85. glowrin round : Burns himself had a vein of superstition, as 
he confesses in his Letter to Dr. Moore (Aug. 2, 1787), — *To this hour 
in my nocturnal rambles I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious 
places'; cf. D. and Dr. H.^ 17, p. 21, — 

'An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes ken'd aye 
Frae ghaists and witches.' 

147 87. Kirk-Alloway : it is now a ruin, and in Burns's day, though 
it had a roof, it was a deserted centre of superstitious fears and rumors. 
Round it lies the churchyard, and the so-called Burns cottage is near by. 

147 89. By this time : the ground referred to is now all private and 
enclosed property, and is so changed that it is impossible to trace Tam's 
steps. This cumulation of subsidiary effects is after the manner of 
Shakspere, and the device is repeated later, 11. 131-140. 

148 105. Inspiring, etc.: so in the first legend of his letter to Grose, 
the plowman had got * courageously drunk at the smithy.' 

148 110. Fair play : 'so long as things went fair and square '; or it 
may be a mere exclamation. The s of deils is a phonetic accretion. 

148 116. Nae cotillon : cf. what he says in a letter from a place un- 
known during his mysterious rush to the West Highlands (June 30, 
1787): 'Our dancing was none of the P>ench and English insipid, formal 
movements ; we flew at Bab at the Bowster, Tullochgorum, etc., etc' 

149 120. Auld Nick is Scandinavian, but the pipes are Celtic. 



236 NOTES. 

149 127. cantraip sleight : cf. 'magic sleights,' Macbeth^ Act iii, v. 26. 

149 130. holy table : the communion table. 

149 131-8. A reminiscence of the witches' hell broth in Macbeth^ 
Act iv, sc. I. 

149 140. Here Burns originally had two more couplets upon * three 
lawyers' tongues seamed with lies,' and ' three priests' hearts rotten.' 

149 143. As Tammie glowr'd : to illustrate the creative growth of 
the tale in Burns's mind, cf. this with the bare statement in the prose 
version: ' The farmer, stopping his horse to observe them a little, could 
plainly descry the faces of many old women of his acquaintance and 
neighborhood. How the gentleman was dressed tradition does not say, 
but the ladies were all in their smocks.' This, it is said, was the point 
in the composition where Burns found relief in gesticulation, and finally 
in frantic tears as he came to ' Now, Tam ! O, Tam ! ' etc. 

149 154. seventeen bunder linen: linen woven in a reed of 1700 
divisions, consequently very fine; cf. ' twal hunder linen.' 

150 158. burdies : see Vocab., and cf. Campbell's Lord Ullirt's 
Daughter^ — 

'And by my word the bonny burd 
In danger shall not tarry.' 

150 164. ae winsome wench and walie : contrary to his custom, 
Burns does not acknowledge that this line is Ramsay's. 

150 177. twa pund Scots: y. \d. English money; eighty cents. 

150 219-220. The prose version closes more naturally : * The unsightly 
tailless condition of the vigorous steed was an aw^ful warning to the 
Carrick farmers not to stay too late at Ayr markets.' 



BONIE BOON (1791, March). 

There are three versions of this song, — (i) a rough copy sent to 
Alex. Cunningham, March 11, which he improved into (2) the version 
of the text, and (3) the altered and less perfect version generally known. 
No. I is here quoted to show this winged creature in its unawakened 
chrysalis. It consists of two twelve-line stanzas : 

* Sweet are the banks — the banks o' Doon, 
The spreading flowers are fair, 
And everything is blithe and glad 
But I am fou o' care. 



NOTES. IZl 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause love was true. 
Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird 

That sings beside thy mate, 
For sae I sat an' sae I sang 

An' wist na o' my fate. 

'Aft hae I roved by bonie Doon 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love. 

And sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Upon its thorny tree, 
But my fause lover staw my rose 

And left the thorn wi' me : 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Upon a morn in June, 
And sae I flourished in the morn, 

And sae was pu'd or noon.' 

Until Mr. Scott Douglas's edition appeared, this lyric was chronologi- 
cally misplaced by four years, and had a touching association with the 
bitterly real romance of Miss Margaret Kennedy, the * bonie young 
Peggy ' of an earlier song of Burns. That association is now shown to 
be fanciful, and we are indebted to its editor for the history and trans- 
formations of the poem. Unfortunately, Mr. Douglas, not content to 
let well alone, must not only furnish a new and ' original ' melody, but, 
in order to accommodate this poor music, and at the same time obviate 
his objection that the closing couplet of Burns's rough copy is *a very 
palpable instance of the " art of sinking " from pathos to bathos,' must 

* restore ' Burns's perfect lyric with an original variation that makes even 
bathos pathetic. 

152 5. Thou Ul break : the grammar here should be noted. 
152 6. bough : a Scotsman would ordinarily say * brainch,' but if he 
used this word he would pronounce it *boo.' It therefore rimes with 

* true ' without the canine howl given it by Mr. Scott Douglas, — 

* bow-oo.' 



238 A'OTES. 



O FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM (1791). 

This is a humorous specimen of the dramatic ^ kind of which the fore- 
going is the best pathetic example. But it is difficult to draw the line 
between the personal and the dramatic songs. Not all those songs are 
personal in which he gives utterance to passion in the language of 
absolute sincerity ; and again there is a wealth of purely personal emo- 
tion in songs that are dramatic in form. Bo7iie Boon is as genuine as 
Ae Fond Kiss ^ and O fo7' A^ie-and-Twenty is not less so than O Tibbie, 
I Hae Seen the Day. Burns had the dramatic faculty of making others' 
experience real, as well as the lyric faculty of making it tuneful. 

153 3. learn : good Scotch. A rattlin sang is one with ' go ' in it. 
She means to * make them skip.' 

153 11. spier: ask leave; she will be her own mistress. 

153 13. a wealthy coof : this is the converse of Tibbie, where he 
says with the same lightness, — 

' Ye geek at me because I 'm poor, 
But fient a hair care 1/ 



FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON (1791 [?]). 

This song is generally known among Scots people by the name A/ton 
Water. ' A kind of holy calm pervades the soul of the reader who pe- 
ruses, or the auditor who listens to the music of this unique strain. 
The *' pastoral melancholy " which Wordsworth felt at St. Mary's Loch 
steals over his heart and laps him in a dreamy elysium of sympathetic 
repose' (Scott Douglas's note). It is a fine example of Bums's lyric 
power in English, and a good offset to his statement to Thomson 
(Oct. 19, 1794), — 'These English songs gravel me to death: I have 
not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue.' 

Gilbert Burns said that the song referred to Highland Mary ; Currie, 
followed by Lockhart, gave it to Mrs. Stewart of Stair (see B. A., 204, 
p. 116); but the circumstantials of the song do not harmonize with 
either of these claims, both of which rest on the assumption that the 
name Afton is taken from Afton Lodge, near Coilsfield, and not, as the 
text clearly bears, to Glen Afton, at the head of Nithsdale. The 

^ The word is used in the sense adopted by Browning in his Dramatic Lyrics. 



NOTES. 239 

heroine was probably some casual fancy of the poet's New Cumnock 
acquaintance in the Vale of Afton (see Works ^ II, 241). 



AE FOND KISS {1791, December 27). 

This is one of the poet's earliest productions after his removal to 
Dumfries. Its subject, Mrs. Maclehose, was a young 'grass widow' 
whom Burns first met at a friend's house in Edinburgh, Dec. 4, 1784. 
They were mutually smitten, the lady more deeply, but the poet with 
greater gush. Then began a correspondence in some respects beautiful 
and touching as the romantic epistolary of Heloise, in others among 
the most nauseating in literature. Burns, under the name of Sylvan- 
der, wrote to Mrs. Maclehose as Clarinda almost every day, and some- 
times twice a day, for a period of three months. They were both in 
Edinburgh, but they behaved like boy and girl lovers who are not 
allowed to meet too often. Clarinda wrote verses to Sylvander and 
grew eloquent upon ' Friendship's pure and lasting joys ' ; Sylvander 
replied with the excited ardors of a youth of eighteen. She also worked 
upon his religious sentiment, and, while she subdued his passion, fed it 
into an infatuation that blinded his common sense. Burns told Mrs. 
Maclehose all about Jean Armour, and when he decided to go back to 
the woman who had sacrificed all for him, and give her honorable 
marriage, Mrs. Maclehose wrote to him that he was a villain. Their 
Arcadian love thus ended, but their friendship was renewed in the 
autumn of 1791, when Burns revisited Edinburgh on other business. 
Mrs. Maclehose was then about to sail for the West Indies to join her 
husband, and Burns took farewell of her. On his return to Dumfries 
he sent her this song. Clarinda sailed in February. Six months later 
she returned to Edinburgh, and lived there to the age of eighty-three, 
but she and Burns never met again. But see My Nanie 'j- Awa^ note. 

154 9. I '11 ne'er blame : he uses the same expression in his letter 
of March 9, 1789, in which he replies to the lady's charge of villainy. 

155 13-16. These four lines were prefixed by Byron to his Bride of 
Abydos. Scott said that they contained ' the essence of a thousand 
love-tales.' Mrs. Jameson's language was even stronger, — * the essence 
of an existence of pain and pleasure distilled into one burning drop.' 



240 NOTES, 



THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE (1792). 

This song, which first appeared in Johnson's Museum^ is founded on 
an old ballad, set to a melody which is found in Playford's Da7tcing 
Master (1657), entitled ' The Buff Coat.' The second four lines of that 
ballad run, — 

* The bairns they a' set up the cry, 

" The deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O." 
" There 's no meikle matter," quo' the gudewife, 

" He's aye been a daidlin body, O." ' 

For a companion study, readyi:?//;/ A7ide7'soii ?ny jo. 

155 2. dang : the more correct participle would be dung. 



THE DEIL'S AWA Wl' THE EXCISEMAN (1792, Feb. 27). 

Lockhart gives a circumstantial account of the composition of this 
song, furnished him by Supervisor Train, who succeeded Lewars, Burns's 
associate. A smuggling brig was stranded in the Firth of Solway, and 
as she promised fight, Lewars went to Dumfries for a squad of Dra- 
goons. Burns grew impatient at his delay, and composed the song 
while pacing up and down the shingly beach. This was the brig, four 
of whose cannon Burns bought and sent to the French Assembly with 
his compliments. 

The idea of the devil dancing away with an Exciseman, however, 
occurs in a song current before Burns's day, written by one Thomas 
Whittell, a Northumberland poet, who died in 1736. The first stanza 
runs, — 

* Did you not hear of a new found dance 
That lately was devised on. 
And how the Devil was tired out 
By dancing with an Exciseman ? ' 

156 1. fiddling: Scotch Puritanism vadide \h.e fiddle par excellence 
the devil's instrument, chiefly on account of its association with dancing ; 
but in Tarn d* Shafiter the fiend plays the bagpipe. 

156 13. reels: cf. Tam d Sha7iter, 117, note: 

' But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels.' 



NOTES. 241 



BESSY AND HER SPINNIN WHEEL (1792, Summer). 

Into this song of perfect rural peace neither love nor any other dis- 
turbing element enters (see notes to For a* That). 

156 2. rock and reel : ' distaff and spindle '; see Ep. Z., i, note. 

157 25-26. sma* : Mittle.' Cf. Ben Jonson's saying of Shakspere, 
* Small Latin and less Greek.' Note the French accent of envy. 



BONIE LESLEY (1792, August). 

On the 2 2d he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, enclosing this song, which he 
had composed a few days before on the occasion of a visit from Mr. 
Baillie and his two daughters on their way to England. Burns had 
been smitten with spasms of admiration for Miss Lesley Baillie, — * So 
delighting and so pure were the emotions of my soul,' he says. He 
* convoyed ' the party fifteen miles on their way, and as he rode home the 
old ballad of Lizzie Baillie floated through his mind and crooned itself 
into this song. The ballad begins, — 

' O bonie Lizzie Baillie, 

I '11 rowe thee in my plaidie.' 

158 5-6. Adapted from Ae Fond Kiss^ ii, 12, p. 154. 

158 8. Thomson would have altered this to, ' And ne'er made sic 
anither'; but Burns defended his own line as ^ more poetical.' 

158 13-16. For this quaintly original conceit, cf. Co' the Vowes, 17-20, 
p. 166. 

158 22. Caledonie : here again Thomson objected, but Burns again 
defended the word on the sanction given it by Ramsay. 

In September of this year began his connection with Mr. George 
Thomson, who was editing a collection of Scottish music, a work of the 
same kind as Johnson's Museum, but meant to be of a higher tone. 
For this work Burns wrote in all 65 songs. When soliciting Burns's 
aid in the work Thomson had stipulated, — ' One thing only I beg, that 
however gay and sportive the muse may be, she may always be decent. 
Let her not wTite what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound that 
charming delicacy which forms the most precious dowry of our 
daughters' {Letter of Thoi?tson to Burns, Oct. 13, 1792). The same 
gentleman also recommended English songs (which Burns found so 



242 NOTES. 

troublesome to compose), probably because the Scottish muse was too 
little of a prude. Burns objected to his fastidiousness, but he himself 
had already for years past, and that without making the least concession 
to pod-snappery, been giving Scottish song a Kadapais, or clarification, 
both poetical and ethical, which finds its best parallel in what Shaks- 
pere did for English drama. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE (1792, October). 

This is the first song he wrote specially for Thomson, though he had 
sent others composed earlier. A light pastoral song to the same tune, 
T/ie Lea-7'ig^ had appeared in the first volume of Johnson's Museum. 
This was by Fergusson, and may have been the one Burns had been 
'reading over.' There is, however, an older ballad, more beautiful than 
Fergusson's, but rather broad, beginning, — 

' I '11 rowe thee owre the lea-rig.' 

159 5. scented birks: var. 'birken buds,' which is not consistent 
with the dewy time of year. 

159 6. clear : ' shining,' ' bright,' as commonly. 

159 17. The hunter: this stanza was added December i. Burns 
was no sportsman, and habitually inveighed against field sports, but he 
sometimes handled a fishing rod. The story of the Englishmen, how- 
ever, who claimed to have found him fishing up a tree with a claymore 
is too silly. 



HIGHLAND MARY (1792, October). 

Sent to Thomson November 14. For the story, see notes to To 
Mary and To Mary in Heaven. This song, too, w^as written about the 
time of year of Mary's death, and though his surroundings were entirely 
different, the same recollections, scenery, and sentiment recur. In- 
spired by the same idealized memory, this song is a far higher flight 
than To Mary in Heaven. It was composed to a melody, Catherine 
Ogie^ one of the oldest preserved Scottish melodies, and so beautifully 
plaintive that it draws tears to the cheeks of old men. Burns thought 
it was ' in his happiest manner.' It is interesting to observe how the 
artist's passionate music of language here rises superior to the shackles 
of rhyme. 



NOTES. ' 243 



DUNCAN GRAY (1792, December). 

There was an old ribald ditty of the same name and air printed in 
Johnson's Museum. Burns adopted the first quatrain. His version is 
one of the best illustrations of the KadapcrLs referred to in the note 
before Afy Ain Kind Dea^'ie. In his note of December 4, Burns says : 
* Duncan Gray is a light-horse gallop of an air which precludes senti- 
ment ' ; but he has succeeded in giving it a humor both rich and tender. 

160 2. o^t: 'of it'; an idiomatic phrase, really redundant, but 
giving a certain dramatic round-off to an expression. 

161 5. hiegh : the rime is gutteral ; pron. *heech.* 

161 11. Ailsa Craig: a rocky islet in the Firth of Clyde, off Ayr- 
shire. 

161 15. spak 0' . . . : i.e., * drowning himself.' Hon. Andrew Ers- 
kine said this was ' a line which itself should make him immortal.' 

161 17. tide : i.e., it ebbs and flows and brings reversals. 

162 39. baith: here a conjunction; idiomatic Scotch order for 
*baith crouse and canty.' 



GALA WATER (1793, January). 

There were several versions of an old song, one of which is given by 
Herd as the oldest ; another is quoted by Mr. Scott Douglas; and there 
was at least one more. The Braw, Braw Lass 0* Gala Water. Burns 
first modified the old song and then rewTote it. The subject is a remi- 
niscence of his Border tour of May, 1787. The song is a remarkable 
adaptation of words and sentiment to the melody, which is old and was 
a favorite of Haydn's. 

162 1-2. Var. 'There's braw . . . They wander.' 
162 3. Yarrow . . . Ettrick : some of the finest of the Border min- 
strelsy is associated with the ' dowie dens o' Yarrow.' Ettrick is another 
district on Tweedside, renowned in Border song and the mother country 
of James Hogg, ' the Ettrick Shepherd.' 

162 4. Gala Water : a tributary of the Tweed. ' Water ' is the 
general name, = ' river,' e.g.. Water Tay ; cf. the philologically famous 
Wansbeckwater in the north of England ; but there the usage varies, 
e.g., Ullswater is a lake. 



244 NOTES, 

WANDERING WILLIE (1793, March). 

An old song of the same name (pubHshed in Herd's collection) gave 
Burns the suggestion and the first two lines. 

162 2. haud awa: idiomatic Sc. for 'take the road,' ' make tracks.' 

163 8. The simmer : Thomson's correction, ' As simmer . . . so,' 
destroys the fine beauty of the implied comparison, by rendering it ex- 
plicit. 

WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD 

(1793, August). 

This song was inspired by Jean Lorimer, for some time his reigning 
beauty, and the subject of about a dozen of his songs. The title and 
melody are old. 

162 1. Var.; 

' O whistle and I '11 come to you, my jo, 
O whistle and I '11 come to you, my jo ; 
Though father an' mither an' a' should say no. 
Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my jo.' 

163 6-7. yett . . . style : the meaning is plain enough, but the local 
particulars are not quite clear. 

163 9. kirk . . . market: the two great rendezvous of Scotch 
country people. 

In singing, the last line of each quatrain is repeated. 



SCOTS WHA HAE (1793, Aug. 31). 

The original title is Robert Bruce'^s March to Bannockbum. The 
germ of the ode may be found in the entry of his journal for the first day 
of his Highland tour, Aug. 25, 1787, when he visited the field of Ban- 
nockbum. ' Here no Scot can pass uninterested. I fancy to myself 
that I can see my gallant, heroic countrymen coming down upon the 
plunderers of their country, the murderers of their fathers, noble revenge 
and just hate glowing in every vein, striding more eagerly as they 
approach the oppressive, insulting, bloodthirsty foe.' In writing to 
Thomson, Sept. i, 1793, he mentions a tradition that the air, 'Hey 
tuttie, taitie,' was Bruce's March at Bannockburn.i * This thought in 

^ Cromek points out the absurdity of this ; the only martial music the Scots had in 
Bruce's days was what could be produced from bullocks' horns. 



NOTES. 245 

my yesternight's evening walk warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm . . . 
which I threw into a kind of Scotch ode that one might suppose to be 
the royal Scot's Address on that eventful morning.' The sensational 
story of its composition, which Carlyle is mainly responsible for propa- 
gating, — * dithyrambic on horseback,' ' wildest Galloway moor,' * throat 
of the whirlwind,' etc., etc., — finds no support from Burns's own account, 
and it is contradicted by what he repeatedly says about his methods 
of composition. 

William Wordsworth objected to this song as Mittle more than school- 
boy rodomontade.' But the only essential of a song is that it ' sing,' i.e., 
have not merely lyrical but musical emotion ; and about the singing 
quality of Scots Wha Hae there is no shadow of doubt. It is remark- 
able, however, that the melody, which Burns said had often filled his eyes 
with tears, should, with all its suggestion of the defiant blare of trumpets, 
be the identical melody of the Land o' the Leal, one of the most plain- 
tive of all songs. Urbani noticed the delicacy of the melody and begged 
Burns to compose soft verses to it ; but Burns took fire differently. 

164 7. Edward's power: in 1314 Edward II marched into Scotland 
with 100,000 men to relieve an English garrison in Stirling Castle and 
reduce the country. Bruce met him with 30,000 on the field of Ban- 
nockburn, and gained a victory which decided the independence of 
Scotland, acknowledged by England fourteen years later. 

164 J 6. Var. * Let him on wi' me!' Most of the other variations 
are due to the persistent obtuseness of Thomson. 

164 21-24. * I have borrowed the last stanza from the common stall 
edition of Wallace^ [see Ep. W. S., 15, note] : 

* A false usurper sinks in every foe, 
And liberty returns with every blow.' — B. 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS (1794, Spring). 

This is another reminiscence of his Highland tour. The entry in 
his Journal (Sept. 6, 1787) states that he 'came over Culloden Moor,' 
and had * reflections on the field of battle.' There was an old song of 
the same name, but only four lines of it were left. 

165 5. Drumossie Moor : another name for Culloden, where the 
Jacobite rebellion of 1745-6 was crushed. 



246 NOTES. 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES (1794, September). 

In 1787 Burns made a note of this lovely melody and of words some- 
times attributed to wild Tibbie Pagan ; in 1790 he made some alterations 
and additions and sent it to Johnson ; now ' in a solitary stroll ' he added 
the walk at fauldin-time and the mavis' evening sang, the glimpses of the 
moon on water and Abbey ruin, where the fairies dance on dewsprent 
flowers, the prayer for protection from unholy influences and then the 
cry of utter love ; we can see the song tremble, breathe, and start 
blushing into warm life in his kands. 

165 13. Cluden^s . . . towers : the ruins of Lincluden Abbey at the 
confluence of the Cluden and the Nith. 

166 17. ghaist nor bogle : for similar guardianship from malevolent 
spirits, cf . Shakspere's song in Cynibeline^ — 

' No exerciser harm thee 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee.' 



THE WINTER OF LIFE (1794, Oct. 19). 

Burns wrote this to an air which he called 'a musical curiosity, — an 
East Indian air which you would swear was a Scottish one.' 

The verses are ' dramatic,' but there is a strong undercurrent of per- 
sonal feeling (cf. note on O For Ane-a7id-Twenty, Tarn). Very early 
Burns could moralize with effect on youthful folly and the evanescence 
of its joys. Now he knew that he was about to suffer for those follies, 
and already he felt the chills of premature old age stiffening his frame. 
On June 25 of this year he had written to Mrs. Dunlop, — ' To tell you 
that I have been in poor health will not be excuse enough for neglecting 
your correspondence, though it is true. I am afraid that I am about to 
suffer for the follies of my youth.' In this connection the student 
should read his noble letter to Mr. Cunningham, Feb. 25, 1794, 

166 15-16. Cf. Man was Made to Mourn, 27, 28 : 

' Miss-spending all thy precious hours, 
Thy glorious youthful prime.' 



NOTES. 247 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE (1794, November). 

In a letter of May, 1795, Burns refers to this song as ' a picture of 
his mind.' Cunningham says it was written when ' the frozen finger of 
the Excise pointed to a supervisorship.* But the mood is a characteris- 
tic one. Cf. Rantiji Rovin Robiji, 17, 18, p. 16 : 

' He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a'. 



MY NANIE 'S AWA (1794). 

Sent to Thomson in December, but the song may have been com- 
posed earlier, and he doubtless had Mrs. Maclehose in mind. In one 
of Clarinda's letters (January, 1788) a passage occurs which evidently 
furnished the motive of this composition, — ' Oh, let the scenes of 
nature remind you of Clarinda : in winter remember the dark shades 
of her fate ; in summer, the warmth of her friendship ; in autumn, her 
glowing wishes to bestow plenty on all; and let spring animate you 
with the hopes that your friend may yet surmount the wintry blasts of 
life.' Burns replied, — ' I shall certainly steal it and set it in some 
future production, and get immortal fame by it.' 

167 1-2. arrays . . . listens : the first is intrans., the second trans., 
* listens to.' The freedom of construction permitted in Scotch made 
Burns occasionally twist English to suit his convenience. 



A MAN 'S A MAN FOR A' THAT (1795, Jan. 1). 

< This piece is no song, but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three 
pretty good prose thoughts put into rhyme. I do not give you the song 
for your book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle, for the piece is 
not really poetry' {Letter to Thomson, January 15). If not a song, and 
it is more suitable for declamation than for singing, this lyric contains 
the double-distilled essence of the spirit that produced American inde- 
pendence. The sentiment was not uncommon in the eighteenth century, 
but it was only a fashion. It served to give a turn to rhetorical couplets, 
but it meant nothing to Europe until the Y2Xi^\2Xi faubourgs took up the 



248 NOTES. 

cry in deadly earnest. In this year the French revolutionary spirit was 
finding its chief apostle in Napoleon Bonaparte, and here the blaze of 
Liberie^ Egalite^ Fraternite, is concentrated into a burning focus. 

168 17. Ye see: Burns knew that a 'lord' need not be a 'coof,' 
but not even the friendship of men like Glencairn subdued his inveter- 
ate jealousy of rank and social superiority. 

169 25-28. Cf. C. S. A^., 165-6, and note, — 

' Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
" An honest man 's the noblest work of God." ' 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN (1795, February). 

In a note to Thomson of this date, the poet described himself as 
snowed up and driven to distraction in this ' unfortunate, wicked little 
village,' and he elsewhere gives the village a bad name for drunkenness. 
The place is now better known as the birthplace of Thomas Carlyle, 
whose parents were resident there, and who was himself born in Decem- 
ber of this year. Carlyle's father saw Burns and noted the fact with 
indifference. 

For this lively matrimonial skirmish, cf. The Deuk 'j Dang O'er My 
Daddiey'p. 155. The proud little beauty in a fit of temper twits her 
husband with the ' tocher' she brought him besides her *bonie sel.' In 
the second stanza the 'worser half retaliates with another treasure he 
has in his eye if he only saw the ' green graff ' growing over her. 

169 8. toss : 'toast.' Cf. ' An' yon the toast of a' the town,' — Mary 
Moris on. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER (1795). 

An imitation of the old ballad song like Tak Your Auld Cloak About 
Ye^ Muirland Willie^ etc. Cf. Tarn Glen. Its humor and naivete are 
well suited in the melody. 

170 18. lang loan : Burns's original reading was * Gateslack,' the 
name of a picturesque pass in the Lowther hills. Thomson prevailed 
upon Burns to alter the word, which he did, under protest, into ' lang 
loan.' But a touch of locality is thereby lost. 



NOTES. 249 

171 22. Dalgarnock : the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, 
with the ruins of a church and an old burial ground still to be seen. 
The trystey or market, was held near by. 

171 33. Popular usage has made this line, — 

' And how my auld shoon fitted her schachP feet.' 

The point of this change is that * auld shoon ' is a familiar expression 
for a rejected lover who pays his addresses to another. No wonder, 
then, he 'fell a-swearin.' 



EPISTLE TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER (1796, early in the year). 

The circumstances are those of the first stanza : Burns was now suf- 
fering from his mortal sickness. 

Colonel de Peyster was commandant of the Gentlemen Volunteers of 
Dumfries, a company raised in the previous year on the scare of inva- 
sion from France. Burns was a private in that corps, and in its honor 
had written a stirring battle-cry, Does Haughty Gaul Invasio7i Threat ? 
This was the company Burns referred to when he said on his death-bed, 
* Don't let the awkward squad fire over me.' 

173 38. on a tangs : i.e., being singed previous to cooking. 



GLOSSARY, 



A.S. = Anglo-Saxon; M.E. = Middle English ; O.N. = Old Norse ; Norw. = Nor- 
wegian ; Dan. Danish ; Sw. = Swedish ; Du. = Dutch; C. = Celtic; Fr. = French; 
M.L.G. = Middle Low German ; unk. = unknown ; wh. = whence. 



a-, prefix used often where Eng. 
uses be-^ as in afoi-e, ahint, ayojit, 
aside. 

abeigh, adv. off, aloof. [Etym. 
dub. Perh. <2, on, and O.N. beigy 
fear.] 

aboon, adv. and p7'ep. above. 
[M.E. abowen^ aboveit ; A.S. 
abufa7i.'\ 

abreed, adv. abroad. \a- and 
braid : ee is local.] 

acquent, adj. acquainted. [For 
-tedy see Gram. Introd.] 

ae, adj. one : also used to inten- 
sify superlatives, as in * The ae best 
dance ' {DeiTs awa). 

a-f auldin, /^<r. ' a-folding,' bring- 
ing the sheep to fold. 

aff, adv. And prep. off. 

afore, adv. and prep, before. 

aft, aften, adv. often. 

^S^^y? ^&Vy ^^'^- amiss, crook- 
edly \gley to squint; M.E. glieit ; 
O.'N.gljd, to glitter]. 

ahint, adv. and/r<?/. behind. 

aiblins, adv. perhaps, possibly. 
[able and -//;/j", wh. see.] 

aik, ft. oak. [A.S. dc ; cf. O.N. 
eik.'\ 



ain, adj. own. [A.S. agen; cf. 
O.N. eigin.'] 



airn, n. iron. [Cf. O.N. jdr7t, 
older form earn.'] 

airt, n. direction, quarter of 
the compass : v. guide, direct. [C. 
aird.] 

aisle, aizle, n. burning ash, ' cin- 
der.' [Also ^/>/^; A.S. ysle.] 

aith, n. oath. [A.S. d&\ cf. 
O.N. ei&'r.] 

aits, n. oats, *corn.' [A.S. ate, 
^te.] 

aiver, ;/. full-grown horse. [Also 
aver ; O.Fr. aver, aveir, havings, 
stock, cattle.] 

ajee, adv. ajar, \_jee or gee, to 
stir.] 

amaist, adv. almost. [See 
7?iaist.'] 

amang, /r^/. among. [K.S. on- 
maftg.'] 

an% co7tj. and: if, *gin.* [Cf. 
early use of Eng. aTtd, a7t.'] 

anathem, v. anathematize, curse. 

ance, aince, adv. once. [Early 
form anys ; adv. gen. of ane.] 



252 



GLOSSARY. 



ane, adj. one. 

anent, prep, relative to, about ; 
beside, [aneven^; A.S. 07t efen^oii 
emn, on even (ground), with ex- 
crescent /.] 

anither, adj. another. [See 
ither.^ 

an^s, 'and is.' [See Gram. In- 
trod.] 

ase, n. ash, ashes. [A.S. cesceP^ 

aside, prep, beside. 

asklent, adv. aslant, sideways. 
[See sklent.'] 

asteerin, ptc. stirring, moving. 
[A.S. styrian.'] 

attour, prep, or adv. out-over, 
besides. \cit-our, at-owre ; see 
owre?[ 

aught (pron. acht), adj. eight. 
[M.E. aht; A.S. eahta^^ 

auld, adj. old. [M.E. aid; A.S. 
ealdy aid.] 

ava, adv. at all. \af a' = of all .] 

awa, adv. away. 

awnie, adj. bearded (of grain). 
[a7vn, beard of grain, usu. barley ; 
O.N. <?^;/, pi. agiiar ; Gothic aha7ia^ 

ayont. adv. beyond. [For the 
/, of. ahifit.] 

Bab, n. knot of ribbons. [Same 
as bob ; M.E. bobbe, a cluster; cf. 
C. babag.] 

backlins, adv. back. [See -lifts.'] 

bade, v. past of bide^ wh. see. 

baggie, ;/. dim. of bag, stomach. 

baillie, n. magistrate next to 
the provost in a royal borough : 
alderman. [O.Fr. bailli.] 

bairn, n. child. [A.S. bear7t ; 
O.N. bar7t.] 



bairn-teme, ) offspring, brood. 



;eme, ) 
;ime, > 



bairn-time, \ [A.'6.bear7t-tea7n.'] 

baith, adj. and co7tj. both. 
[M.E. bd&e; O.N. bd&ar (not 
A.S. bdtwd).] 

bake, ft. biscuit. 

bands, 71. Genevan clerical neck- 
tie worn officially. 

bane, 7t. bone. [A.S. bd7t ; cf. 
O.N. bei7t.] 

bang, n. knock. [Cf. O.N. ba7igy 
hammering.^ 

bardie, ;/. dim. of bard. 

barefit (pron. berfit), adj. bare- 
footed. 

barley-bree, 71. malt-liquor. [See 
bree.] 

barm, ;/. yeast, barm. [M.E. 
ber77ie ; A.S. beo7'77ia.'\ 

barmie, adj. fermented, excited, 
active. 

bashin, ptc. of bash, knocking 
down (grain), reaping. [.^Dan. 
baske, to beat.] 

batch, n. group, gang. [M.E. 
bacche, a quantity baked at once ; 
fr. A.S. bace7i, baked.] 

batts, ;/. botts, colic. 

baudrons (also bauthrons), n. 
cat. [Prob. C.] 

bank, 7t. crossbeam. [Same as 
Eng. balk ; A.S. balca.] 

bauk-en', 7t. end of the beam. 

bauld, adj. bold. [A.S. bealdy 
bald.] 

bawsnt, adj. having a white 
spot or streak on the face (of a 
cow, etc.), brindled, blazed. [O.Fr. 
baiisa7tt.] 

bear, bere, n. barley. [A.S. 
bere.] 



GLOSSARY. 



253 



beast, n. a full-grown head of 
stock. 

beet, belt, v. to help by adding, 
add fuel to, incite. [A.S. betan ; 
O.N. boeta^ to mend.] 

bein, adj. snug, comfortable, 
well-to-do. [M.E. bette^ pleasant. 
Origin unknown.] 

belang, v. belong to. 

beld, adj. bald. 

belyve, adv. presently. [M.E. 
bi life, ' with life.'] 

ben, adv. and prep, into the in- 
terior, into the parlor. [A.S. be- 
iiinan, bi^tnaji.'] See btit. 

bere, see bear. 

besom, n. broom ; see Ep. D. B., 
23, note. [A.S. besema, besma.^ 

bethankit, n. ' be thanked ' : 
grace after meat. 

beuk, see bulk. 

1. bicker, n. a wooden cup. 
[O.N. bikarr ; M.E. biker ; Eng. 
beaker?^ 

2. bicker, n. a hurried run. 
[M.E. biker, to skirmish.] 

bid, V. ask, pray for. [A.S. 
biddan^ 

bide, V. wait for, endure, ' thole.' 
[A.S. bidan^ 

bield, n. shelter, refuge. [Perh. 
same as A.S. bieldo, M.E. belde, 
boldness, resource, help.] 

bien, see bein. [In no way 
conn. w. Fr. bien, well.] 

big, V. build ; orig. to settle, in- 
habit. [M.E. bigge ; O.N. byggja, 
to inhabit, build {bua, to dwell).] 

biggin, fi. building, edifice. 
[From above.] 

bill, n. bull. [The i is local.] 



billie, n. fellow, ' chield.' [Perh. 
same word as bully ^ 

bing, n. heap (of grain, etc.). 
[O.N. bi1^g-r^^ 

birk, n. birch. [A.S. beorc, 
berc ; cf. O.N. bjork ; Dan. birk.'] 

birkie, «. smart young fellow 
(in both good and bad sense). 
[Etym. unknown.] 

birr, v. 'whirr.' [Imit. word.] 

bit, used idiom, as an adj.= 
little. 

bizz, n. bustle, flurry. [Imit. 
w^ord.] 

blae, adj. dark blue, Uvid. [O.N. 
bld-r.] 

blastit, adj. withered ; used as an 
epithet of condemnation. Burns 
has also the n. blastie. 

blate, adj. shy, bashful. [Etym. 
dub. Murray rejects A.S. bleat, 
soft, and prefers bldt, pale.] 

blaud, ;/. large piece, fragment 
broken off by a stroke. * Screed ' 
(of writing) : v. to strike, abuse, 
beat down (as windy showers on 
grain). 

blaw, V. blow; boast. [A.S. 
bldzuaji^ 

bleer^t, ptc. bleared. [M.E. 
bleren^ 

bleeze, n. blaze. [A.S. blcese, a 
torch.] 

blellum, 71. idle talker, ' blather- 
skite.' 

1. blether, v. talk nonsense. 

2. blether, n. bladder. [O.N. 
bld&ra ; A.S. bH^dre.] 

blethers, n. nonsense. [O.N. 
bla&ra. For vowel, cf. gather, 
gether.] 



254 



GLOSSARY. 



blink, n. gleam, twinkle; brief 
moment. 

blitter, n. snipe : prop, bittern. 
bluid, blude, 71. blood. 
bluntie, adj. dull, stupid. [M.E. 

blype, n. strip, peeling (of skin). 

bock, V. vomit, belch, pour out. 
[M.E. bolke7i.'\ 

bodle, n. a copper coin = 2 pen- 
nies Scots, said to have been 
named after mint-master BothwelL 

body, bodies, 7i. person, folk; 
often contemptuous. 

bog-hole, 71. quagmire, 'wall-ee.' 
[C. bog., soft ; bogach, a morass.] 
Dim. boggle. 

bogle, 71. goblin, * doolie.' [Prob. 
C. bwg, bwgwli hobgoblin ; cf . obs. 
Eng. bug as in bug-bcai-, and Eng. 
boggle., to start aside for fear.] 

bonie, bonnie, adj. good-look- 
ing, beautiful, winsome. [P^r. 
boji^ 

boord, buird, ;/. board. 

boortree, bourtree, ;/. elder. 
[Also bon7it7'ee ; der. boreh-ee, from 
its soft pith, questionable.] 

boost, V. must, ought. [M.E. 
boes, bus; past bude, bood ; orig. 
impers., contr. fr. (it) behoves?^ 

bore, 71. hole, burrow, crevice. 
[A.S. bo7'ia7i ; O.N. bo7'a?[ 

bouse, V. drink deeply : ;/. drink- 
ing-bout. [M.E. bouse7i ; M.Du. 
biise7iP[ 

bow-kail, 71. cabbage. 

bow't, (pron. boo^d), ptc. 
crooked, bent. 

bracken, 71. fern. [M.E. b7'ake7t ; 
cf. Sw. b7'dke7i ; Eng. bj-ake, fern.] 



brae, 7i. slope, rising ground. 
[O.N. b7'd., eyebrow, brow of a 
lull.] 

braid, adj. broad. [A.S. brad; 
cf. O.N. brei&r?^ 

braik, 7t. a heavy harrow for 
pulverizing. [Same word as Eng. 
break?\ 

braindge, v. plunge (of ahorse) : 
also bree7idge. 

brak, v. broke. 

branks, 71. a wooden bridle for 
cows. [C. bra7tg, part of a horse's 
halter.] 

brash, «. a sudden sickness. 
[Used generally of a sudden at- 
tack ; prob. imit.] 

brat, 71. any article of clothing, 
esp. an apron; rag, 'dudd.' [A.S. 
b}'att, fr. C. brat, a cloth.] 

brattle, ti. clatter ; scamper, 
' spurt.* [Imit. word.] 

braw, adj. fine, excellent, hearty, 
fine-looking, handsome; finely 
dressed. [Fr. b7'ave.'] 

brawlie, adv. very well; heartily. 

braxie, 71. a disease among 
sheep ; wh. the flesh of sheep that 
die on the hills. [Cf. A.S. brcec- 
seoc7tes, falling sickness, fr. brcEC- 
rheu7n!\ 

breastit, v. put the breast to, 
sprung up a forward. 

bree, 71. juice, liquor, water. 
[Perh. A.S. (5rfw.] 

breef, brief, ;/. spell. [O.Fr. 
brief {bref, brevet)., talisman.] 

breeks, ;/. breeches, trousers. 
[A.S. brec:\ 

I. brent, adj. high, straight: of 
the forehead, used as opposed to 



GLOSSARY. 



255 



bald, perh. because well covered 
with hair and thus having a steep 
appearance. [A.S. brant., steep.] 

2. brent, adv. in comp., breitt- 
new^ brandnew. 

brier (pron. breer), ;/. wild-rose. 
[A.S. brer.'\ 

brig, 71. bridge. [A.S. brycg; 
M.E. brigge.'\ 

brisket, n. breast, stomach. 
[O.Fr. brischet or br its diet. '\ 

brither, ;/. brother. [Cf. ithe7'?^ 

brock, n. badger. [A.S. broc, 
fr. C. brochP)^ 

brogue, n. trick. [Etym. unk.] 

broo (pron. bro), n. juice, liquor, 
water. [Perh. O.Fr. bro^ breti., 
whence dim. broez. See brose?[ 

broose, ;/. a race at a country 
wedding. [Perh. same word as 
brose, as a dish of brose some- 
times formed the prize.] 

brose, n. on dry uncooked 
oatmeal, with salt, boiling water 
is poured sufficient to soak the 
meal ; it is then allowed to stand 
until the meal swells, whereupon 
it is eaten with milk. This is 
water-brose. Kail-brose is made 
with broth instead of water. A 
generation ago this was the staple 
food of the Scottish plowman. 
[Older forms are browis, browes ; 
M.E. broys ; O.Fr. broez?^ 

brugh (pron. bruch), n. burgh. 
[Cf. brunt and btirnt^ and, con- 
versely, girn., grm, etc.] 

brunstane, n. brimstone, sul- 
phur. [M.E. brynstan.] 

brunt, ptc. burnt. 

bught (pron. bucht), n. sheep- 



fold, pen : v. to pen (sheep). 
[Prob. conn. w. bight ; A.S. byht^ 
a bend.] 

bughtin-time, «. time for the 
ewes to be penned and milked. 

buik, beuk, buk, n. book. 

buird, 71. see boord. 

buirdly, adj. large and strong- 
looking, of robust appearance. 

bum, V. and fi. buzz, hum. 
[Imit. word.] 

bum-clock, n. drone-beetle. 
[bu7n, from its droning flight ; 
clock, a beetle.] 

bunker, n. large box or bin 
sometimes used as a seat. [Cf. 
Eng. bu7ik.] 

burdie, dim. of burd, ;/. bride, 
damsel. [Perh. A.S. brydy Dan. 
briidy w. transp. r.] 

bure, past of bear : bore. 

burn, 71. brook. [A.S. bur7ia, 
btcr7te.'] 

burr-thistle, n. Scotch thistle. 
[M.E. burre ; Dan. Sw. borre^ 

busk, V. dress, adorn. [M.E. 
biisken ; O.N. buask, to get one- 
self ready.] 

buss, n. bush, covert. [Cf. 
wiss for wish?^ 

bussle, n. bustle, 'bizz.* 

but, prep, without: 7i. the 
kitchen end of the house : adv. in 
the kitchen. The cotter's house 
consists of * a but and a ben.' 
[A.S. be-uta7t, bzlta7t.'] 

butchin, n. butcher's trade. 
[ Ptc. of butch y to butcher.] 

by, prep, past, beyond ; by him- 
sel, crazy ; by this., by this time : 
adv. I care na by, I care not for 



256 



GLOSSARY. 



that. (See Tibbie^ I hae see?t the 
day, 4, note.) 

byke, n. nest of ^vild bees or 
wasps. [Etym. nnk.] 

byre, ;/. cowhouse. [A.S. byreP^ 

1. Ca% V. call, name. [O.N. 
kail a.'] 

2. ca% V. drive (e.g., a cart, nail, 
flock of sheep). [Same word as 

.«' ..] 

cadger, 7i. itinerant fishmonger. 
[From cadge, to carry about, hawk ; 
of doubtful etym.] 

caird, 7i. tinker. [C. ceard?\ 

cairn, n. pile of stones. [C. 
carii?^ 

caller, cauler, adj. fresh; wh. 
cool. [Older form caloure, cal- 
lour, applied to flesh recently 
killed ; perh. fr. calver, an epithet 
used of newly caught fish. Cf. 
silver, siller^ 

canker, n. irritation: v. be ir- 
ritated ; wh. ca7ikyie, irritating, 
peevish. 

canna, v. cannot. 

cannie, adj. sagacious, cunning ; 
careful, quiet, harmless, \ca7i, to 
know how.] 

cantie, adj. happy, cheerful. 
[Prob. cant, brisk and bold ; a 
Low German word.] 

cantrip, 7i. a mischievous 
trick usually connected with 
charms or magic. [Etym. dub.] 

capestane, n. copestone. 

carl, carle, n. man, boor, old 
man. [M.E. carl; O.N. karl ; 
cf. A.S. ceorl?\ 

carl-hemp, «. the strongest 



stalk of hemp, form, supposed to 
be the male-plant, but really the 
female. 

carlin, 7i. fem. of carl : old 
woman. 

carmagnole, fiend, wild revolu- 
tionist. [Fr. car??iagtiole, a wild 
dance popular among the French 
revolution aries.] 

cartes, ;/. playing cards. [The 
/ is Fr.] 

cattle, ;/. all beasts constituting 
property. 

cauld, adj. cold. [M.E. cald ; 
A.S. ceald; O.N. kald-r.] 

caup, 11. wooden bowl. [Also 
cap (the au being local ; cf. chaup, 
chap; cauler, caller)-, A.S. copp ; 
O.N. kopp-r.^ 

causey, n. causeway. [O.Fr. 
caucie, caiiciee, a beaten track, via 
calciata.'] 

certes, adv. forsooth, ' fegs.' 
[Fr.] 

changehouse, ;/. tavern; wayside 
inn where horses were changed. 

chanter, n. the pipe of a bag- 
pipe, recorder. [Older form chan- 
tour ; O.Fr. chaiiteor.'] 

1. chap, 71. fellow. [Short for 
chap7iia7i ; cf. calla7it, fr. Du. 
kala7it, a customer.] 

2. chap, chaup, 7t. stroke (of a 
hammer), knock. [M.E. chappcTi ; 
conn. w. chop, chip.'] 

chiel, chield, 7i. young man, 
fellow. [A.S. cild.] 

chimla, 7i. fireplace, mantel- 
piece ; not * chimney ' in the sense 
of ' flue,' wh. in Scotch is ' lum.' 
[O.Fr. chetninee.'] 



GLOSSARY. 



257 



chittering, ptc. shivering, flut- 
tering, usu. w. cold. [M.E. chi- 
teren ; cf. chatter.] 

chow, chaw, v. chew. [A.S. 
€eowa7t.'\ 

cit, n. ' citizen,' contemptuously. 

clachan, n. village. [C] 

claes, 71. clothes. [Cf. 77ioii\ 
mouth, wi\ with.] 

Claith, n. cloth. [A.S. cld&; 
O.N. kl(E&i:\ 

claivers, clavers, ;/. gossip, 
idle talk. [Prob. C. clabaif-e, a 
gabbler ; but cf. obs. Du. kala- 
beren, and Ger. klaffem^ to 
chatter.] 

clamb, V. past of climb. 

1. clap, V. put quickly. [O.N. 
klappa, to pat ; M.E. clappe7i.'] 

2. clap, 71. clapper (of a mill). 
[Same.] 

clarkit, ptc. clerked, figured 
accounts. 

clash, clashes, ft. idle gossip, 
scandal. [Imit. word.] 

claught, ptc. clutched. [Past 
of deck wh. corr. to M.E. clecke7t, 
pp. ciaht.'] 

claut, V. scrape : 7t. something 
scraped together, hoard. [Prob. 
same root as claw.'] 

claw, z^. scratch. \_\.?).cldwa7i.'] 

clean, adv. altogether. 

deed, v. clothe. [O.N. klce&a, 
Dan. klcede, Du. kleede7i ; and cf . 
Eng. clad for clothed?^ 

cleek, n. hook : v. link to- 
gether. [North, form of M.E. 
clechen^ to catch.] 

I. clink, 71. money, wealth, 
' chink.' 



2. clink, V. accord, come in 
aptly. 

clips, ;/. shears. 

clish-ma-claver, ;/. idle gossip, 
* clashes.' \clisJi is a doublet of 
clash ; see claiver.'] 

clock, 71. a beetle. [Etym. unk.] 

cloot (pron. cluit),;?. one of the 
divisions of a cloven hoof. [Perh. 
O.N. kid, claw.] 

Clootie, Cloots, n. Satan, [cloot.'] 

clud, 71. cloud. [A.S. died, a 
hill, 'cumulus.'] 

coble, 71. small, broad-beamed 
rowboat, usu. for salmon-fishing. 
[?C.] 

coft, V. bought. [Past tense and 
'p.'p. ixom. cope ; cf. M.Du. cdpe7i. 
The pres. coff was formed from 

coft:] 

cog, 71. wooden bowl, bigger 
than a catip. [Prob. C. cawg, a 
basin.] Dim. coggie. 

convoy, v. accompany on the 
way. [O.Fr. co7ivoie.] 

cood (pron. cuid), 7i. cud. 

coof, cuif, 71. fool, blockhead. 
[Perh. cf. Eng. cove (slang).] 

cookit, V. past of cook, to appear 
and disappear by turns. [Etym. 
dub.] 

COOst, cuist, past of cast. 

cootie (pron. cuitie), 7i. tub. 

corbie, ;/. raven, crow. [O.Fr. 
corb, co7^bi7t.] 

core, 7t. company, gang. [Fr. 

C07'pS.] 

corn, 71. grain, oats, 
corn't, ptc. fed with oats, 
cosie, cozie, adj. snug, warm. 
[Etym. unk.] 



258 



GLOSSARY. 



cot-folk, 71. cotters. 

cotter, ;/. one who inhabits a 
cottage dependent on a farm. 

couthy, adj. kindly, loving. 
[A. S. <f?7(^, known ; cf. M. E. 
cii&i?\ 

cove, n. cave ; recess, nook. 
[A.S. cofa:\ 

cowe, V. intimidate, surpass. 
[Perh. O.N. kuga ; Dan. kue. Dist. 
fr. cowe^ to cut short (M.E. colic).'] 

cowpit, past of cowp, upset. 
[Prob. same word as cope.^ fr. Fr. 
cojipcr^ orig. to strike.] 

cowte, ;/. colt. 

cozie, adj. see cosie. 

crack, v. talk : ;/. conversation. 
[Orig. to talk loud or boastfully ; 
same as Eng. crack.'] 

craft, n. croft, field. [A.S. 
cro/t.] 

craik, n. corn-craik, land-rail. 
[Imit. word.] 

crambo-clink, crambo-jingle, ;/. 
versification. ycra7?il)o, a game of 
verses, and cli)il\ jingle.] 

cranreuch, ;/. hoarfrost. [C. 
cra7i7i^ a tree ; reodhadh^ freezing 
(from the forms of vegetation it 
takes).] 

1. crap, 71. and v. crop. 

2. crap, V. past of creep. 

1. craw, 11. crow (of chanti- 
cleer). 

2. craw, 71. rook. 

creel, ;/. large, round, open 
wicker basket ; sc7iscs i7i a C7'ccl = 
* having lost one's head.' [? C] 

creeshie, creishie, adj. greasy. 
[crcisA^ grease ; O.Fr. C7'aisse, 
cresse ; cf. C. o-cis (pron. k7'esh).] 



crony, ;/. intimate companion. 
[No conn. w. cro7te has been 
traced.] 

1. crood, ;/. crowd. 

2. crood, V. coo (as a dove). 
[Imit. word.] 

1. croon, 71. crown, top of the 
head, ' pow.' 

2. croon, V. make a low mourn- 
ful sound : 7t. hum. [M.Du. 
C7'd7ic7i, to lament.] 

crouchie, adj. hump-backed. 
[M.E. c)'iickc7i, to cower ; cf. O.Fr. 
C7'0chi7', cower.] 

crouse, adj. brisk and bold, 
spirited. [M.E. c7'2is ; M.L.G. 

k7'US.] 

crowdie, ;/. porridge, brose. 
[Cf. O.N. g7'a7tt-r.] 

crummock, ;/. staff with a 
crooked head. [A.S. C7'2i7nb, 
crooked ; -ock^ dim. termin. ; C. 

C7'07tiag^ 

crump, adj. crisp, short (of 
cakes). [Cf. cri77ip, C7'ti77iple.] 

cuddle, V. caress. [Prob. a cor- 
ruption of 'couth-le,' a frequenta- 
tive from M.E. couth, and so same 
root as c out hie.] 

cuif, see coof. 

cummock, 7i. stick wdth a 
crooked head. [Also capi77tock, 
ca7tibock ; M.E. ka7?tbok ; L.Lat. 
ca7nbuca, of C. origin.] 

curchie, ;/. curtsy. 

curmurrin, ;/. rumbhng sound, 
gi-umbling. [Imit. word; cf. Du. 

koe7'e7l-77l07'7'e7l.] 

curpin, curple, 7i. crupper, back. 
[Var. form of cro2ip07i ; O.Fr. 
c7'oupo7i, rump.] 



GLOSSARY. 



259 



cushat, n. wood-pigeon. [A.S. 
cuscote?^ 

custoc, castock, ;/. pith of the 
stem of a cabbage. \c(-il^ kail, 
and stock. '\ 

cutty, adj. short. [C. ciitach^ 
short, docked.] 

Daddie, n. father. [C] 

daffin, ;/. making fun, romping. 
[M.E. daffe, to be foolish.] 

daft, adj. foolish, crazy. [P. p. 
of M.E. daffe:\ 

dail, deal, ;/. deal board. 

daimen, adj. occasional, 'an- 
trin.' [Etym. dub.] 

dainty (pron. denty), adj. good, 
lovable. [O.Fr. daintie^ agreeable- 
ness, fr. Lat. dignitatemP\ 

damies, 71. dames. [Dim.] 

darg, daurg, n. lit. a day's work ; 
wh. a spell of w^ork in general. 
[daurk, syncop. form of day-werk^ 
day-work.] 

darklins, adv. secretly. [See 
-li7is.'\ 

daud, n. large piece. [Also dad ; 
a piece broken off by a dad or 
blow ; fr. v. dad^ strike firmly. 
Imit. word.] 

daur, V. dare. 

daurk, see darg. 

daut, dawt, v. pet, caress. 
[Etym. unk.] 

daw, V. dawn. [M.E. dawe?t ; 
A.S. dagian.l 

dead, n. death. [M.E. (North.) 
ded; A.S. dea& ; ci. O.lSi. dau&-r 
(Dan. Sw. dod).] 

dearthfu, adj. costly, dear. 

deave, v. stupefy with noise ; 



annoy by repetition, pester. [A.S. 
deajia7i in ddeajiaii (f -=v), to wax 
deaf.] 

dee, V. die. [M.E. deyen ; O.N. 
deyja?\ 

deevil, deil, ;/. devil. 

deil-ma-care, interj. ' no matter.* 

deleerit, adj. delirious, raving. 

1. den, ;/. dell. [M.E. dere ; 
A.S. deini^ valley.] 

2. den, 71. cavern. [M.E. den ; 
A.S. de7t7i.'] 

descrive, v. describe. [M.E. 
desc7'ive7t ; O.Fr. descriv7'e.^ 

deuk, 71. duck. [Same as Eng. 
dtuk ; see /(??//'.] 

dicht, dight, v. wipe. [A.S. 
dihta7i, to prepare.] 

dike, see dyke. 

din, 71. noise ; discord. 

dine, 71. dinnertime, noon. 

ding, V. knock; beat, baffle. 
[M.E. di7ige7i ; cf. O.N. de7igja^ to 
hammer.] 

dinsome, adj. noisy. 

dirl, 71. a stroke that produces 
vibration but does not penetrate : 
V. throb, tingle. [Cf. thirty thrill^ 
etc.] 

dizzen, 7i. dozen. 

doited, adj. stupid, \doit may 
be dote^ M.E. dote7t ; O.N. dotta, 
to nod sleepily.] 

doitin, doytin, ptc. walking in 
a stupid manner. \doit^ doiter ; 
see above.] 

donsie, adj. wicked, morally bad 
{U. G)\ vicious, ill tempered (A.M. 
M.) ; wh. ill to please, over-nice. 

dool, dule, 71. sorrow. [O.Fr. 
doel = deicil.'] 



260 



GLOSSARY. 



douce, adj. solemn, grave. [O. 
Fr. douse, douce. ^ 

dour, doure, adj. stubborn, un- 
yielding, stern. [Cf . Fr. din' ; L. 
din'i/s.] 

dow, v. can ; past dought. [M. 
E. doweji ; A,S. ditgan.'\ 

dowff, adj. dull, spiritless ; point- 
less. [O.N. dauf-r, deaf.] 

dowie, adj. dull, low-spirited. 
[Earlier form, dollie, prob. same 
as A.S. dol.'\ 

downa, v. cannot. \iiow.'\ 

downans, ;/. green hillocks. [C. 
dun.l 

doylt, adj. stupid. [Perh. orig. 
p. p. of diillen, to dull ; cf. M.E. 
dult.l 

drag, 71. and v. break (of a 
vehicle) : dragged, ptc. having the 
break applied. 

drappie, ;/. dim. of drap, drop. 

drave, v. past of drive. 

dree, v. endure, suffer. [M.E. 
dreien^ dreghen ; A.S. dreogan^ 

dreep, v. drip. 

dreigh, adj. tedious. \]s\.Y..dregh; 
see dree, and cf. O.N. drjug-r^ 

droop-rumpPt, adj. drooping at 
the crupper. [O.N. drupa ; and 
rti77iple = rump.] 

droukit, ptc. drenched. [O.N. 
d7'uk7ia, to be drowned.] 

drouthy, adj. thirsty, {drouth ; 
M.E. droug&(e) ; A.S. druga&,ix. 
drugia7i, to dry.] 

drucken, adj. drunken. [Norw. 
and Dan. drukken ; O.N. druk- 

ki7t7l.'] 

drumly, adj. muddy. [Also 
druTubly.'] 



drummock, ;/. raw oatmeal 
stirred in cold water ; thin * crow- 
die.' [Prob. C] 

drunt, 71. pique, huff. 

duan, ;/. division of a poem, 
canto. [C] 

dub, 71. pool, puddle. [C. dob^ 
gutter.] 

duddie, adj. ragged, [duds.'] 

duds, duddies, 7t. rags, clothes. 
[M.E. dudde, a cloak.] 

dung, V. past of di7ig. 

dusht, ptc. astounded (as with 
a heavy blow). [M.E. duschcTi^ to 
strike, doublet of dash^ 

dyke, dike, 7i. stone or turf 
fence ; orig. a mound thrown up 
by digging a trench. [A.S. die, a 
ditch.] 

Earn, ern, 7i. eagle. [A.S. ear7t ; 
M.E. er7tP\ 

Earse, Erse, ;/. Highland, Gaelic. 
[= Irish.] 

ee, 71. eye. PL een. [A.S. eage^ 
eaga7i ; M.E. eye, eye7i.] 

e^en, ;/. evening. 

eerie, adj. frightened, weird ; 
prop, it suggests ghostliness and 
the apprehension of something 
unknown. [M.E. ^r/, prob. fr. A.S. 
ear/i, timid.] 

eild, 71. old age ; Eng. e/d. [A.S. 
e/do, y/du.] 

elbock, 7z. elbow. [Cf. A.S. el- 
doga.] 

eldritch, adj. unearthly. [A 
form elphrish favors a connection 
with elf^^ 

eneuch, 7i. enough. [M.E. i7ioh; 
A.S. ge7ioh^ 



GLOSSARY. 



261 



ettle, V. and n. aim, endeavor. 
[O.N. cBtla, to intend.] 

eydent, adj. diligent. [Also 
written ithand ; O.N. i&inn, assid- 
uous ; i&^ restless motion.] 

Fa, V. get, secure ; ' he maunna 
fa that.' Cf. old song, ' For fient 
a crum o' thee she faus.' [A.S. 
fon; O.N./^; T)2in. faae.'] 

fa% n. lot, destiny: v. to befall. 

faddom, n. and v. fathom ; the 
outstretched arms. \_K,S.fce&m ; 
M.Y..fadme.'\ 

fae, n. foe. 

faem, «. foam. 

fain, adj. desirous, fond. [A.S. 
fcsgen.'] 

fair fa', = *fair befall/ * good 
luck to.' 

fairin, n. present given at a fair ; 
reward. 

fallow, n. felloviT. 

fa'n, ptc. fallen. 

fancy, n. love, amour (as in 
Shakspere). 

fand, V. past of find. 

farl, n. coarse meal cake. [Also 
fardel, lit. a fourth part of any- 
thing ; wh. a cake cut in four ; 
A.S. feor&a d^l.'\ 

fash, V. and n. trouble. [O.Fr. 
fascher.'] 

Fasten-een, n. Shrove Tuesday. 
[Fast.] 

faught, n. fight. 

fauld, n. fold : V. to bring the 
sheep home. 

fause, adj. false. [Cf. Fr. 
fausse.'] 

faut, n. fault. [Cf. Fr. faute.l 



fawsont, adj. seemly, respect- 
able. \M.¥..fasouny fashion; Fr. 
fa^on ; t is p. p. ending.] 

fear't (pron. feared), adj. afraid. 
[Cf. Eng. afeard.'] 

feat, adj. trim, smart. [M.E. 
feity fait ; Fr . fait. ] 

fecht, n. and v. fight. 

feck, n. greater part, substance. 
[Corrup. of effect.'] 

feckless, adj. insubstantial, pith- 
less. \^feck.'] 

feg, n. fig. [Dist. fr. interj. 
fegs!] 

fail, adj. comfortable, cosy. 
[Perh. A.S. f^e ; M.E. fele, 
proper, good.] 

fair, fier, adj. strong, lusty. 
{M.'E. fere ; O.N. fa^rr, capable.] 

fairie, adj. vigorous, active. 
[feir.] 

1. fall, adj. strong (of taste). 
[M.E.fe/.] 

2. fall, n. hill. [O.N. fe//, 
fja//.] 

fan', n. shift, provision : v. to 
make provision. [M.Y.. fenden ; 
Fr. defendre.~\ 

farly, ;/. and v. wonder. [M.E. 
ferli; A.S.f^rlic, sudden.] 

fetch, V. pull intermittently. 

fidga, V. move uneasily, fidget. 
\SQefyke.'] 

fid gin-fain, adj. fidgeting with 
eagerness. 

fiant, n. fiend. Used in emphatic 
negatives; 'fient a' = *devil a'; 
* fient haet ' = * devil a whit.' 

fiar, see feir. 

fiere, n. comrade. [M.E. fere ; 
A.S. gefera^ 



262 



GLOSSARY. 



filabeg, n. kilt. [C. filleadh 
beag.] 

fine, adv. nicely, 'brawly.' 

fissle, V. hustle, get excited. 
[Freq. oifuss.'] 

fit, n. foot. 



fittie-lan' 



foot-the-land 



the horse of the hinder pair in 
plowing which does not step in 
the furrow. 

fizz, V. effervesce. 

flang, V. past oi fling. 

flannen, n. flannel. 

fleech, V. cajole, flatter. [Perh. 
M.Du._/76'/j-6';/, to fawn.] 

fleesh, n. fleece. [Cf. creesk, 
grease.'] 

flag, fley, v. and ;/. scare. [M.E. 
fleycn ; A.S. ^flegaji, dfljga?i.'] 

flichter, v. flutter. [Same root 
2iS> flight.'] 

file (pron. flee), n. and v. fly. 

flinders, ji. splinters. [Cf. 
Norw. flijidra, dial, flijiter.] 

fling, z'. kick out ; dance a 
* fling.' [Cf. O.'^.fleJigja, to flog ; 
T)2in. flange, to move impetuously, 
to romp.] 

flingin-tree, n. flail. 

flisk, V. caper, ' balk ' (of a 
horse). [Imit. word; cf. whisk.] 

flit, V. remove one's household. 
[M.Y.. flttten ; ci. O.^. flytja.] 

foggage, 71. rank grass. [Sc. 
Law \.2X. fogagiiim , prob. fr. M.E. 
fogge, grass, esp. aftermath.] 

for, prep, in spite of. 

forbears, ;/. ancestors, progeni- 
tors. \Vroh. fore ; bear^ produce.] 

forby, adv. in addition, besides. 
[M.E./7r<^/.] 



forfairn, ptc. jaded, worn out. 
\_\.S. fo?'fara7i, to destroy, perish.] 

forfoughten (pron. forfoch^n), 
ptc. over-exerted, ' trachl't.' \_for-, 
intensive; A.S. fohten^ P- P- of 
feohtan, to fight.] 

forgather, v. meet, associate 
with. 

1. fou (pron. foo), adj. full, 
drunk. 

2. fou, fow, 71. measure of grain, 
' fill ' of the measure. 

foughten (pron. foch'n), ptc. 
harassed; ci. forfoughten. 

fouth, ;/. plenty. [Isl.^.fulthe; 

fid, <fou:] 

fracas, ;/. ado, fuss. [Fr.] 

frae, /r^/. from. [O.N./rJ.] 

freath, 7i. froth, ' ream.' [M.E. 
fro&e ; O.N. fro&a ; the ea is 
local.] 

fu^, adv. quite, very. Same 
word 2i?> fou I, but the pronunc. is 
much lighter. 

fur, furr, 7i. furrow. [A.S. 
furh.] 

furm, 7t. form, bench. [L. 
for7na.] 

fushionless, adj. foisonless, 
weak, ' thowless.' [O.Fr. foison^ 
abundance.] 

fyke, fike, 7t. agitation, fuss, 
anxiety about petty things. [M.E. 
flken ; O.N. flkja, to move 
nimbly.] 

fyle, V. soil, dirty. [M.E.^/^w; 
A.S. {a) fyla7iy ix.fill, dirty.] 

1. Gab, 71. mouth, [^ee gab 2.] 

2. gab, V. chatter, prate. [M.E. 
gabben, to talk idly ; O.Fr. gaber.] 



GLOSSARY. 



263 



gae, gang, v. go. P.gaed.p.p. 
gane. 

gaet, gate, n. road, way ; man- 
ner. [ M . E . ga /^, way ; O.N. gata ; 
cf. A.S. geat^ an opening.] 

gane, gang, see gae. 

gar, z'. compel. SJA.Y.. garren ; 
O.N. gora., vulg. ^^r«, to cause ; 
cf. K.%. gearwian^ to prepare.] 

gart, p.p. of ^(^r. 

garten, /2. garter. \Q.. gartan^ 

gash, ^<^'. sagacious, shrewd ; 
talkative : v. talk much. 

gat, V. past of ^^^/. 

gate, n. see ^«^/. 

gaucie, gawsie, adj. big and 
lusty, plump ; jolly. 

ganger, n. exciseman, one who 
'gauges' (ale-barrels, etc.). 

gaun, /^r. and «. going. (The 
n repres. ptc. -tJi.) 

gear, 71. goods, wealth. [M.E. 
gere ; A.S. gearwe, furnishings.] 

geek (g hard), v. toss the head; 
mock. [Dan. gekken.'] 

Ged, in 'Johnny Ged's hole,' 
the grave. [Perh. fr. ged, a greedy 
person ; metaph. fr. ged, a pike.] 

gentles, n. gentle-folks, gentry. 

get, gett, n. breed, offspring. 
[Cf. beget.'] 

ghaist, n. ghost. [A.S. gdst.'] 

gie {g hard), v. give. 

gif {g hard), cojtj. if. [A.wS. 

gillie (^soft), 7z. dim. of gill, 
fourth part of a mutchkin or pint. 

gilpey {g hard), ;/. frolicsome 
girl. [Used also of boys.] 

gimmer (g hard), n. young ew^e. 
[O.N. gyfnb-r.'] 



gin {g hard), prep, by the time 
of : eojij. by the time that ; if. 
[Also ge7i ; A.S. gean-, against.] 

girn, V. gnash the teeth with 
chagrin, rage or ill temper. [Same 
as g7'in.'] 

gizz, n. face. [Perh. Yr. guise.'] 

glaikit, adj. light, giddy, 
thoughtless. [_glaik, obs. Eng. 
gleek.] 

glaizie, adj. shining, glossy. 
[glaze.] 

gleib, ;/. small farm (usu. at- 
tached to the church), glebe. [Fr. 
glebe.] 

glen, 11. small valley. [C. 
gleann.] 

glint, «. and v. glance. [M.E. 
gle7ite7t.] 

gloamin, 7t. gloaming, twilight. 
\_A.S. gld?nu7tg.] 

glower, V. stare, glare. [M.E. 

gl07'e7l.] 

glunch, ;/. frown, surly look. 
[Also ghi77ich, fr. glu7?i.] 

goavan, pte. staring in a dazed 
way. [Also gave, goif.] 

gos, 71. goshawk, falcon. 

gowan, 7t. daisy ; -y, adj. daisied. 
[C.guga7i.] 

gowd, 72. gold ; -en, adj. golden. 

gowdspink, ;/. goldfinch. 
\spi7tk is same word disji7tch, A.S. 
Ji7ze ; cf. Gr. (77rt77os.] 

gowk, ;/. fool. [M.E. gowke ; 
cf. O.N. gauk-r, cuckoo (which in 
Scotl. is still gowk) ; cf . also Eng. 
gawk^ 

grain, grane, 71. groan. 

I. graip, 71. short pitchfork. 
[Cf . Dan. greb ; Sw. grepe.] 



264 



GLOSSARY. 



2. graip, V. grope. [A.S. grd- 
pian ; conn. w. above.] 

graith, n. implements ; harness, 
attire. \}X.Y.. greithe ; O.N. grei- 
&i, preparation.] 

grace, see grain. 

granny, //. grandmother, \_gra7i- 
7iam, grandam, Fr.] 

grat, past oi gj-eet. 

gree, ;/. prize, superiority. [O. 
Fr. gre.] 

greet, v. weep. [A.S. g^-Htan^ 
to bewail ; cf. O.N. grdta^ 

grissle, ;/. gristle, stump. 

groat, //. an old silver coin = 
8 cents. [M.E. grote ; O.L.G. 
g7'ote?\ 

grousome, adj. horrible, {grew, 
to shiver ; cf. Dan. gyuc.'\ 

grumph, n. grunt ; wh. grum- 
phie, n. pig. [Imit. word.] 

gruntle, ;/. snout, visage ; grunt. 

grushie, adj. thick, of thriving 
growth. 

gude, guid, adj. good : ;/. good- 
ness ; God. 

gudefather, «. goodfather, 
father-in-law. 

gudeman, n. master of the 
household, husband. 

gude-willie, adj. good- willed, 
friendly. 

gully, ;/. large pocketknife, 
bowieknife. 

gulravage, ;/. disorder, tumult. 

gumlie, adj. muddy. \gummle^ 
to stir up ; same ^.sjufnble ; Dan. 
gumpe^ to jolt.] 

gusty, adj. tasty, toothsome. 
[Obs. Eng. gust; Lat. gustus, 
taste.] 



gutcher, n. grandfather. [Older 
forms gtid-schir, gt^d-syr.^ 

gutters, n. mud, mud puddles. 
[M.E. gotere^ channel for water; 
O.Fr. goutiere.'\ 



Ha', 71. 



hall. 



ha'-bible, 7i. family Bible kept in 
the hall or principal apartment. 

had, V. see haiid. 

hae, V. have. Esp. used in prof- 
fering a thing, ' here.' 

haet, 71. whit. 

haffets, ;/. sides of the head. 
[Older form hevid (Wyntoun) ; 
A.S. heafod, the head.] 

hafQin, adj. half-grown. \Jialf 
and -li7i^ -li7ig?[ 

hafQins, adv. partly. [See 
-li7is?[ 

ha-folk, 71. hall-people ; i.e., of 
the servants' hall. 

haggis, 71. kind of pudding. 
[M.E. haggas^ /lakkys, fr hag, hack, 
infl. by O.Fr. hachis, hash.] 

hain, v. spare, economize, save ; 
lit. to hedge in. [O.N. /ieg7ia, to 
hedge.] 

hairst, 7z. harvest. 

haith, i7tterj. ' faith.' 

haivers (havers), 7t. nonsense, 

* blethers.' 

haP, 71. hold ; house a7i' haV = 

* house and holding.' 

hale, 71. and adj. whole ; sound, 
robust. [A.S. hdL'\ 

halesome, adj. w^holesome. 

half-lang, adj. corruption of 
ha-ffii7i. 

hallan, ti. partition wall of a 
cottage; sometimes (see C. S. N. 



GLOSSARY. 



265 



85) it separated the dwelling apart- 
ments from the cow house. 

hallowe^en, n. All Saints' Eve. 
[M.E. halwe ; A.S. hdlga.'\ 

hame, ;/. home : hamely, adj. 
homely. 

han% haun% n. hand; capable 
person. 

han^-daurg, n. single-handed 
day's labor. [vSee datirg.'\ 

hand-waled, adj. chosen by 
hand ; especial. [See wale.'\ 

hansel, handsel, n. first money, 
or gift, bestowed on a particular 
occasion; an earnest; first use: 
also adj. and v. [O.N. handsal ; 
ci. A.S. /land-se/en, a giving into 
the hand.] 

1. hap (short a), n. and v. 
cover, wrap. 

2. hap (long d)^ V. hop. 
happer, n. hopper of a mill. 
happin, ptc. of kap 2. 
harkit, past of hark, 'listened 

to.' 

harn, n. coarse kind of linen. 
[Also ha7'din, from the material, 
hards. A.S. heordan, hards of 
flax.] 

hash, n. fool, soft, useless fel- 
low. [Also a wasteful, stupidly 
reckless person ; prob. fr. hash, to 
cut up wastefully.] 

hand, had, v. and n. hold. [Cf. 
scaud, scald.] 

hauf, «. half. 

haugh (pron. gutt.), n. meadow 
by a river side. [Prob. conn. w. 
A.S. haga, a place fenced in; cf. 
O.N. hagi, a pasture.] 

haun, n. see han\ 



haurl, V. drag roughly; scrape, 
peel. 

havins, n. propriety ; sense of 
propriety. [Perh. O.N. hcefa, to 
behoove, be meet ; hcejinn, aiming 
well ; but cf. Eng. havior, be- 
have.^ 

havrel, n. for haver-el, foolish 
person. [See haivers.'] 

hawkie, 71. cow; strictly a cow 
with a white face. [Cf. hawkit, 
white-faced, spotted or streaked 
with white.] 

heal, see hale. 

hearse, adj. hoarse. [M.E. hors ; 
A.S. has ; cf. O.Du. haerschT^ 

heave, v. throw, pitch. 

hecht, V. promise. [Orig. to 
name; A.S. hdtan, heht ; Eng. 
hight (be called).] 

heckle, n. comb for dressing 
flax or hemp. [M.E. hekele ; Du. 
hekel.l 

heeze, v. raise. [M.E. hoise ; 
O.Du. hyssen^^ 

heft, ;/. haft, handle. 

heigh (gutt.), adj. high. 

herryment, n. devastation ; 
plunderers. \herry, to harry, 
plunder; A.S. hergian.'] 

het, adj. heated, warm. 

heugh, n. lit. a crag, a ragged, 
steep hillside ; wh. a ravine, gully. 
[O.N. haug-r ; cf. M.E. hogh ; Eng. 
hoiv, hill.] 

hich, see heigh. 

hie, adj. high. 

hilch, V. halt-Ump, prance, cur- 
vet. 

hing, V. hang. 

hirple, v. limp. 



266 



GLOSSARY. 



hirsel, 71. flock, herd. [Also 
herdscl.^ 

histie, adj. usu. given as = dry, 
parched. [Perh. it means ' autum- 
nal'; cf. Dan. host, autumn.] 

hitch, n. loop, hook. [M.E. 
hiccheii^ 

hizzie, n. lass, \^-ithout any- 
derogatory sense. [Same as Eng. 
hussy, housewife.] 

hoast, see host. 

hoble, V. same as Eng. hobble, 

hodden-gray, //. coarse gray 
cloth of undyed wool. 

hoddin,//r. jogging (the motion 
of a man on a heavy work horse). 

hog-shouther, v. jostle. [Prob. 
fr. hog and shouidc?-, fr. the action 
of pigs at a trough ; prop, a boy's 
game of butting with the shoulders, 
in which the contestants have to 
hop on one foot.] 

hoodock, adj. miserly. 

hool, ;/. hull, shell, sheath. 
[A.S. htilu.] 

hoolie, adv. gently, cautiously. 

hoord, //. hoard; -et, adj. -ed. 

hoosie, housie, ;/. dim. of house. 

horn, n. ale-cup ; horn-spoon. 

host, hoast, ;/. cough. [O.N. 
hosta, to cough.] 

hotch, V. move uneasily. [Cf. 
O.Du. hotsen.'] 

hough-ma-gandie, n. illicit in- 
tercourse. 

houlet, ;/. owl. [Dim. of 020I, 
A.S. ille, infl. by howl, and perh. 
by Fr. hiclotte.'] 

howdy, n. midwife. 

howe, n. valley, hollow, \_holl, 
to dig ; A.S. hoi, a hole.] 



howe-backit, adj. hollows- 
backed. 

howk, V. dig. [M.E. holken; 
Sw. holka ; cf. A.S. hole, and hol.'\ 

hoy^t, V. past of hoy, call, in- 
cite. 

hoyte, V. halt, amble clumsily. 

huff, V. snub, bully. [Orig. to 
swell with insolence, to blow. 
Imit. word.] 

hurcheon, ;/. hedgehog. [O.Fr. 
hericoji ; cf. Eng. loxhin.'] 

hurdles, 71. hips. 

hurl, V. wheel. [Same as whirl.'] 

V , prep. in. 

icker, ;/. ear of grain. [Older 
form, eche?' ; Old Northumb. 
(Ehher ; O.H.G. ehir ; cf. A.S. ear ; 
Eng. ear?[ 

-ie, -y, dim. of familiarity or 
contempt. 

ilk, ilka, adj. each, every. 
[M.E. ilke ; A.S. /to.] 

ill-willie, adj. malevolent, un- 
charitable. 

indentin, ptc. of i7ideiit, bind by 
indenture. 

ingine, 71. genius, talent. [M.E. 
e7tgi7ie ; L. i7ige7titi77i^ 

ingle, 7t. chimney-corner, fire- 
place. [C. ai7igeal.'] 

ingle-cheek, ;/. fireside. 

ither, adj. other. Cf. brither, 
77iither. 

Jad, 7t. lass, used in both good 
and bad sense; orig. a poor horse. 
[Also yade, yaud ; Eng. Jade."] 

jauk, V. and 7t. trifle. 

jauner, ft. gabble. 



GLOSSARY. 



267 



jaup, n. and v. splash. [Also 
Jalp.] 

jee, V, move slightly : adv. w. 
gang, — gang jee, . open slightly. 
[Same as gee.'] 

jillet, n. longer form of ////, 
[From////.] 

jimp, V. modified form oij'iwip. 

jing, only in expletive, ' by 
jingo.' 

jink, V. move rapidly aside and 
about, dodge (as a hare from a 
hound) : n. evasion, slip. 

jinker, n. swift and agile mover, 
sprightly creature. \_jmk.'\ 

jo, n. sweetheart, love. 

jocteleg, 7t. pocketknife, jack- 
knife. [Said to be from Yx. Jacques 
de Liege., a maker whose name 
appeared on the blades.] 

jorum, n. punch-bowl. [Perh. 
C. jorram, a boat song; wh. a 
social or convivial song ; w^h. the 
bottle w^hich always accompanied 
the song.] 

jouk, V. duck, stoop. [Same 
word as dook, duck. M.E. dtike7i; 
Dan. dukke ; the Sc. word deuk 
(the fowl) is in Angus pron.y<?^/('.] 

jow, V. oscillate, swing (of a 
bell) ; wh. clang. [M.E. Jolle, to 
knock about ; wh. /<?//.] 

jundie, v. push past another. 

Kail, n. cabbage, colew^ort; wh. 
soup of which this is the chief in- 
gredient, broth, [kale, var. of cole.] 

kailrunt, n. cabbage-stem after 
the head is off. 

kane, //. farm produce paid as 
rent. [Also cane, cain^ C. caijt.] 



kebbuck, n. a cheese. [C. cabag.] 

kebbuck-heel, n. last piece of 
the cheese. 

keek, v. peep. [M.E. kiken, 
keken ; O.N. kikja or Du. kljken.'] 

keepit, v. kept. 

kelpie, ;/. a water-spirit. [C. 
cailpeach, a steer or colt. The 
spirit was supposed to appear in 
form of a horse.] 

ken, V. know. [M.E. kennen; 
O.N. kenna (A.S. cennan is cau- 
sal).] 

ken^le, v. kindle. 

kennin, n. something percepti- 
ble, a little bit, a shade. \ken?^ 

kep, V. catch as it falls, inter- 
cept. \yi.Y.. kippen ; O.'^. kippa, 
to snatch.] 

ket, n. fleece. 

kiaugh, n. anxiety, fret. 

kilt, n. kilt, Scotch Highlander's 
dress : v. tuck up. [Dan. kilte, to 
tuck up ; cf. O.N. kilting, skirt.] 

kimmer, n. young woman, 
wench. [Also cummer, Fr. corn- 
mere, a gossip.] 

king's-hood, n. second stomach 
of a ruminating animal ; said to 
be named from its fancied resem- 
blance to a puckered headdress 
worn by persons of quality. 

kirk, n. church. [M.E. kirke ; 
A.S. cyrice ; cf. O.N. kirkja.] 

1. kirn, ?2. churn. [0.1>l. kirna ; 
A.S. cyreft.] 

2. kirn, n. prop, the last hand- 
ful of grain cut ; wh. harvest- 
home, a rustic feast given to the 
shearers when the * stuff ' was 
safely packed. [Etym. dub.] 



268 



GLOSSARY. 



kirsten, v. christen, baptize. 
kitchen, n. relish : v. give a 
relish to. 

1. kittle, adj. ticklish, difficult 
to handle. 

2. kittle, V. tickle, stimulate, en- 
liven. [M.E. /vV^/^;/ ; A.*6. citeiian.'] 

kittlin, n. kitten. [M.E. kite- 
lingey dim. fr. kit; cf. O.N. 
ketlirig-7'.'\ 

knaggie, adj. having protuber- 
ances, bony (of a horse), \_k71ag, 
a protuberance ; C. cnag.'] 

knappin-hammers, n. stone- 
breaker's hammers. [Du. htap- 
pen, to crack.] 

knowe, ;/. knoll, hillock. [M.E. 
kjtol ; A.S. cnoll.'] 

kye, pi. of cow. [A.S. ry.] 

kyte, n. stomach, paunch. [A.S. 
C2vi&, matrix; O.N. kvi&r, belly.] 

kythe, v. show, appear. [M.E^ 
cy&en ; A.S. cy&afi.'] 

Laddie, n. dim. of iad. [Also 
pron. lathie ; C. lath?^ 

lade, n. load. [M.E. lode; A.S. 
hladan^ to load; cf. O.N. /ila&a ; 
Dan. lade.'] 

lag, adj. laggard, sluggish. [C. 
lag, faint.] 

laggen, n. angle between the 
side and the bottom of a dish. 
[Cf. O.N. logg, the ledge or rim 
at the bottom of a cask; Sw\ 

laigh (gutt.), adj. low. [M.E. 
lah; O.N. Idgr.-] 

laik, n. lack. [Obs. Eng. lak ; 
cf. O.N. lak-r^ defective ; Du. lak, 
stain.] 



1. lair, see lear. 

2. lair, V. to sink when wading 
through snow or mud. [M.E. 
lair ; O.N. leir, mud.] 

laird, 71. owner of land or 
houses, landlord. [M.E. laverd ; 
A.S. hi a ford, lord.] 

lairdship, 71. property, estate. 
\lai}'d:\ 

laith, laithfu, adj. loth, shy. 
[A.S. ld& ; O.N. lei&r:\ 

lallan, adj. lowland, ^law, low^ 
and la7id.'\ 

lampit, 7t. limpet. 

Ian', 71. land. 

lane, adj. lone. [See Gram. In- 
trod.] 

lang, adj. long. 

langsyne, ^/. long since, long ago. 

1 . lap, V. past of lowp, leap. 

2. lap, V. for lapped, covered, 
wrapped. 

lat, V. let. [M.E. laten, leteTt ; 
A.S. latan; cf. O.N. Idta?^ 

lave, 71. what is left, remainder. 
[M.E. laif, lave; A.S. Idf ; cf. 
O.N. lei/l 

law, n. hill. [M.E. hldwe ; A.S. 
hldw, mound.] 

lay, see ley. 

leal, leil, adj. loyal, true, trusty. 
[O.Fr. leiai:\ 

lear, lair, «. learning. [M.E. 
I ere, lare ; A.S. /Jr.] 

lea-rig, ^. pasture-field. 

learn, v. learn, teach. [M.E. 
Ier7te7i ; A.S. leornian.'] 

lee-lang, <2<^*. livelong. 

leeze, only in phrase leeze me, 
= ' my blessing on.' [lief is me; 
earlier form letiis me.] 



GLOSSARY. 



269 



leister, n. a three-pronged fork, 
usu. for spearing fish. [O.N. 
Ijostr ; Dan. lyster.'\ 

leuk, V. and ;/. look. 

ley, lay (pron. ley), n. lea. 
[M.E. leye; A.S. I'eah^ 

lien (pron. ly*n), ptc. lain. 

1. lift, ;/. helping hand, share. 
[Eng. ///?, to raise.] 

2. lift, n. sky. [Same root as 
//// I ; A.S. lyfL'\ 

lightly (gutt.), V. slight, dis- 
parage. 

like, adv. as it were. 

limmer, n. hussy. {O.Yx.limier, 
a hound ; wh. a base person.] 

lin, linn, ;z. waterfall mth a 
pool below. [C. iinney pool; cf. 
A.S. hlynn, torrent.] 

link, V. trip, skip ; do actively. 

-lins, adv. term. w. force of 
'WaySy e.g.,sidelins, backluis. [Orig. 
-lings, lingis ; from suffix -li?ig<, 
used for diminutives, and -es, adv. 
gen. ending.] The two term, are 
seen in hafflin = a half -grown 
man ; and hajfflins =^ partially. 

lint, n. flax. [M.E. and A.S. 
/in; L. linuni.'\ 

lintwhite, n. linnet. [Early 
form, lyntquhite ; A.S. Imetwige : 
ItHy because it feeds among the 
lint.] 

listen, V. hearken to. 

loan, n. lane in the country be- 
tween two hedge-rows. [M.E. 
lone ; A.S. lane, lone.'\ 

loe (pron. lii or loo), v. love. 

loof (pron. liif), ;/. palm. [O.N. 
IBM 

loon, see loun. 



loot, past of lat, permitted ; loot 
on, ^ let on,' gave evidence. 

loun, loon, ;/. rogue ; young 
lad. [Akin to O.Du. loen^ fool.] 

lowe, n. and v. flame. [M.E. 
lowe ; O.N. log^ logi ; cf. Dan. lue.'\ 

lowp, V. leap. [O.N. hlatipa.'] 

1. lowse (sharp s), adj. loose. 
[O.^. laass ; cf. M.E. loos.'] 

2. lowse (pron. lowz), v. loosen. 
\_loiuse I ; cf. M.E. loslen.] 

luckie, n. mistress, usually with 
a shade of contempt, a designation 
given to an elderly woman. [Cf. 
Goody.] 

lug, n. ear ; chimla hig, side of 
the fireplace. [Perh. Sw. lugg^ 
the forelock, and so conn, with v. 
lug, wh. orig. meant ' to pull by 
the forelock.'] 

lugget, ptc. having 'lugs,' or 
raised handles. 

luggie, n. small tub with * lugs ' 
used for milking. 

lum, 7t. chimney. [C. Ihimon.] 

lunt, n. light, smoke, steam. 
[Dan. lunte ; Du. lont, a match; 
wh. hintiri, smoking.] 

luve, V. and n. love. [Cf. loe ; 
A.S. hiJiaJi.] 

lyart, adj. gray. [Also Hart; M.E. 
Hard ; O.Fr. liard^ dapple-gray.] 

Mae, adj. more. [A.S. md ; cf. 
M.E. mo.] 

mailin, n. farm ; land rented. 
[mail, rent ; Fr. maille, a coin.] 

mail, adj. more. [A.S. mdra; 
O.N. fneiri^ 

maist, adj. most: adv. almost. 
[A.S. mast.] 



270 



GLOSSARY. 



mak, V. make. 

mang, prep, among. 

manteel, ;/. mantle. [O.Fr. 
7na7itel.'\ 

mark, ;/. a sum of money = 
13s. 4d. stg.; a mark Scots would 
be IS. ij^d., or 265^/. 

marled, ptc. mixed, mottled, 
checkered. \_?narl, a mixture of 
lime, clay, and sand, fr. O.Fr. 

7?ia7'lc\'\ 

maukin, ;/. hare. [M.E. 77ialki7t, 
dim. of Maud, a general name for 
a kitchen girl; \vh. applied to 
cats (cf. grimalkin) and to hares, 
like p7iss?\ 

maun, v. must. [O.N. 77uc7m, 
shall.] 

maut, ;/. malt. 

mavis, ;/. thrush. [Fr. 77iatn'js.'] 

mebbie, adv. perhaps. [^May de.] 

meere, meare, mear, 71. mare. 
[M.E. and A.S. w^rt\] 

meikle, mickle, muckle, adj. 
much. [M.E. 7nikel^ 77iukel ; A.S. 
micel ; cf. O.N. 77iikill^ great.] 

melder, ;/. quantity (indefinite) 
of grain sent to the mill to be 
ground. [O.N. 77ield7'.'\ 

mell, "J. mix, associate. [M.E. 
melle7i ; Fr. meler.'] 

melvie, v. soil (as with meal). 
[Prob. M.E. 7fiele, meal ; A.S. 
melu.'] 

men', v. mend. 

mense, «. discretion, decorum. 
[Also me7isk ; M.E. and A.S. 
7ne7t7tisc^ humane ; O.N. 77iennsk-r^ 
fr. 771 a7i^ 

menseless, adj. void of discre- 
tion, ^ misleared.' \77ie7ise.'\ 



merle, 71. blackbird. [Fr.] 

messan, messin, 71. cur. 

midden, ;/. dungheap. [M.E. 
77iiddi7ig ; Dan. mdgdy7ige^ 

midden-hole, a standing pool 
at the end of the dunghill. 

midgie, 7t. midge, di77ii7i. [M.E. 
77iigge ; A.S. ;;/jr^.] 

mill, 11. snuffbox (said to be 
so called from the grinding of the 
tobacco leaves which used to be 
done in the box). 

mim, adj. prim, affectedly pre- 
cise. [Softer form of 771 imi^ de- 
mure.] 

mind, v. remind, recollect, heed. 

minnie, ;/. mother. [Cf. Du. 
77ii7i7ie^ wet-nurse.] 

mirk, 71. murk, darkness. [A.S. 
77iierce^ 

misca, v. miscall, abuse. 

mischanter, ;/. mischief, acci- 
dent. [77iiska7iter, 7nis- and au7tter, 
O.Fr. ave7ttiire.~\ 

misguide, v. squander (of 
money). 

mislear't, adj. unmannerly, ill- 
bred ; cf. 77ie7iseless. \771is- and 
lear't^ taught.] 

moop, moup, v. mump, nibble. 
[Imit. word.] 

moorlan, adj. belonging to the 
moors. 

morn, n. morrow ; the ttiotti^ 
to-morrow. [M.E. 77iorwei7t ; A.S. 
morge7i, 77i07'{g)7te.'\ 

mottie, adj. full of motes. 

mou, 7t. mouth. 

moudiewart, 7i. mole.[M.E.w^/^- 
werp ; A.S. 77tolde, soil; weorpan^ 
to throw up; cf. O.N. moldvarpa.'] 



GLOSSARY. 



271 



muckle, adj. see nieikle. 

muslin-kail, n. very thin soup ; 
barley-soup with scarcely -any vege- 
tables. [Perh. niaslin^ mashlimy 
mixed grain ; wh. corrupted 
through assoc. with muslin?^ 

mutchkin, ;/. pint. [Dan. tnutsje, 
quartern ; lit. a cap ; wh. Sc. mutck^ 
cap ; cf. the Scotch ' tappit hen.'] 

1. Na, C071J. nor ; see nor. [A.S. 
7tey nd.'] 

2. -na, termination = ' kind of,' 
w/iatnay sicna. 

3. na, I. nae, adv. not. [A.S. 
nd^ ne.'\ 

2. nae, adj. no, not any. 

naething, n. nothing. 

naig, naiggie, naggie, n. nag, 
horse. [M.E. nagge ; O.Du. negge^^ 

nane, adj. none. 

nappy, n. ale. [Prim, the adj. 
= ' strong,' ' heady ' (of ale).] 

near-hand, adv. nearly. 

neibor, 7t. neighbor. 

neist, see 7tiest. 

neive, neave (pron. nev), n. fist. 
[M.E. ne/e, hnefe; O.N. hneji ; 
Dan. 7tceve.'\ 

neive-fu (pron. neffa), n. fistful, 
handful. 

neuk, n. nook, corner. [C. 
niuc.'\ 

1. Nick, n. auld Nick, the deil. 
[A.S. 7tico7% a water-goblin ; cf. 
O.N. nykr.'] 

2. nick, V. cut. [Same root as 
notch.'] 

niest, adj. next. [A.S. 7tiehst.'\ 
niffer, neifer, v. and ;/. ex- 
change, 'swap.' [netve.l 



nine, nines, in phr. 'to the 
nines ' = perfection. 

nit, 71. nut. [The i is local.] 

no, adv. not. 

nor, conj. than ; see na. 

norwast, n. northwest wind. 

nowte, n. cattle, neat. [O.N. 
naut ; A.S. neat.] 

0^ y prep. of. 

onie, ony, adj. any. 

00, also written woo (pron. oo), 
n. wool. [O.N. ull ; A.S. wtill ; 
for loss of // ci. pu^fu.] 

or, co7tj. ere. [M.E. or, ar, var. 
of er. [x\.S. <Fr.] 

ourie, adj. dull, drooping. [Usu. 
given fr. O.N. iir, rain; urigr, 
wet ; prob. only a var. of weary ; 
cf. 00k, week, and 00, we.] 

outler, adj. unhoused, \-ler is 
prob. a mere term, added to out ; 
cf . ti7ikler, pantler ; cf . also otitlin 
= an alien.] 

outowre, prep, out over, over. 
[Cf. attour.] 

owrehip, adv. overhip, applied 
to the swing of the sledge-hammer. 

Owsen, n. oxen. [Cf. nez'st.] 

Pack, adj. close, intimate ; pacJ^ 
an' thick, very intimate, 'thrang.' 

paidle, v. paddle; dabble in 
•water; walk with short steps. 
\Yox pattle, freq. oi pat ; and cf. 
Fr. patouiller.] 

painch, 71. paunch, stomach ; 
tripe. \0.¥r. pa7ic he.] 

paitrick, n. partridge. [M.E. 
per trie he ; O. Fr. pertris.] 

pang, V. stuff, cram. \l..pangere.] 



272 



GLOSSARY. 



parritch, n. porridge (usu. oat- 
meal). 

pat, past oi pit, put. 

pattle, n. plow-spade. [Same 
word 2.^ paddle, a small spade.] 

paughty (gutt.), adj. haughty. 
[Cf. Du. pochen, to be proud.] 

paukie, pawkie, adj. shrewd, 
cunning, *slee.' [Sc./<2///^, a wile ; 
cf. A.S. p^can, to deceive.] 

pechan, 71. stomach. 

penny-fee, n. money-wages. 

penny-weep, n. small ale. 
\wheep = whip.'] 

pettle, s>Qe pattle. 

philabeg, seefilabeg. 

phiz, 71. physiognomy, face. 
[M.E. fisnamie ; O.Fr. phis 0710- 
mie.'] 

phraisinj/Zr. flattering, [phrase, 
to make fine speeches.] 

pickle, puckle, n. a grain of 
corn ; a small quantity of anything. 
[pickle, to glean, to pick up grains; 
pick.l 

pit, V. put. 

plack, 71. a small coin, two 
bodies, four pence Scots, one- 
third of an English penny, two- 
thirds of a cent. [O.Yy. plaqtie.'] 

plackless, adj. penniless, poor. 
[plack.] 

plaid (pron. play'd), 72. a long, 
narrow shawl worn by Highland- 
ers. [C. plaide.] 

plaister, «. plaster (also form, 
spelled plaister). 

plea, pley, 7t. quarrel, disagree- 
ment: V. disagree. [M.E. pie, 
plaid ; O. Fr. plaity a plea at 
law.] 



planish, v. furnish (a house) ; 
stock (a farm). [O.Fr. plenir.'] 

pleugh (gutt.), 7t. plow. [M.E. 
ploh; O.N. plog-r. The A.S. 
plog is a measure of land.] 

pock, 7t. bag, sack. [ M.E. poke ; 
cf. C. poca ; O.N. poki.] 

poind, V. impound. [M.E. pun- 
de7i ; A.S. pyndan, to shut up.] 

poortith, ;/. poverty. [Older 
form piirtye ; O.Fr. pourete ; the 
-th is an accretion.] 

pou, V. see pu\ 

pouch, 71. pocket (in clothes). 
[O.Fr. potiche. It is a doublet of 
pock.] 

pouk, V. poke. [M.E. pukke7t, 
poke7i, to thrust ; C. poc, a blow.] 

poussie, see pussie. 

pouthery, adj. powdered. [Cf. 
shoiither^ 

pow, n. head, poll. [Cf . knowe^ 

pownie, n. pony. [Q. ponaidh?^ 

prank, 71. act of mischief. 
[prank, to trick out.] 

pree, v. taste. [For preif ; 
M.E. preve7i ; O.Fr. prover, to 
prove.] 

preen, «. pin. [M.E. pren ; 
A.S. preo7t.] 

preif, prief, «. proof. [M.E. 
preef ; ¥. preuve.] 

prig, V. entreat, insist upon ; 
haggle (at a bargain). [A modi- 
fication oi prick.] 

primsie, adj. demure. [Eng. 
priTU ; O. Yx. prim.] 

propone, v. set forth, advance. 
[A law term.] 

proves, n. provost, chief magis- 
trate. [O.Yx. provost^ 



GLOSSARY. 



273 



* pu',^'. pull, pluck. 

puir, adj. poor. 

pund, 71. pound. A pound Scots 
= I J". %d. stg., or 40 cents. 

pussie, poussie, n. hare. 

Quat, past of quit. 

quaukin, ptc. quaking. [A.S. 
cwacian?^ 

quean, n. young woman, wench 
(used in both good and bad sense). 
[A.S. cwe7ie, cf. K.S.cweTt.'] 

quay, n. heifer. [Cf. Dan. kvie ; 
O.N. kviga.'] 

quo', V. quoth. 

Rab, n. Rob, Robert. 

raible, v. rattle off nonsense : 
n. nonsensical talk. [Same as 
rabble; M.E. rablen ; cf. O.Du. 
rabelen^ to mutter.] 

rair, v. roar (of ice breaking up, 
or the plow cutting through 
roots). [A.S. rd}'ia7i ; cf. O.Du. 
re er 671^1^ 

raize, v. madden, excite. [M.E. 
reise7iy O.N. reisa, raise.] 

ram-stam, adj. precipitate, 
headlong. [Prob. ra7n, to drive 
with violence, and sta77i^ a rim- 
ing syllable, intens. ; cf. hurly- 
burly^ 

rant, v. riot, live hilariously : n. 
noisy mirth, jollification. [Eng. 
rarity to be noisy or bombastic] 

rantin, adj. full of animal spirits ; 
wh. ra7ttinly. 

rape, 71. rope. [A.S. rap ; cf. 
O.N. reip ; Du. reep^ 

rase, past of rise. [M.E. pret. 
ras?^ 



rash, 71. rush. [Cf. M.E. resche ; 
A.S. risce?[ 

ration, 7t. rat. [M.E. rato7i ; 
O.Er. ralo7i.] 

raught (gutt.), past of rax, q. v. 

raw, 71. row, line. [M.E. rawe; 
A.S. raw.] 

rax, V. reach ; stretch. [M.E. 
raxe7i, recc/ie7i, pret. rahte ; A.S. 
r^ca7i, r^/ite.'] 

ream, 71. cream, froth : v, 
mantle, froth. [M.E. 7'ea7?i ; A.S. 
7'ea77t.~\ 

reave, reive, tj. rob, plunder. 
[M.E. reave7i ; A.S. reafia7t ; cf. 
Eng. bereave?^ 

red, V. counsel, advise. [M.E. 
and A.S. r^d, counsel.] 

red-wat-shod, adj. walking in 
blood. \red (the color), and wat- 
shod ; M.E. wat-shod.'] 

red-wud, adj. stark-mad. [7'ed, 
intensive ; M.E. and A.S. wody 
mad.] 

reek, 7t. and v. smoke; steam. 
[M.E. 7'ek; A.S. rec] 

reestit, ptc. smoke-dried, singed. 
[O.N. rist, a gridiron ; Dan. riste, 
to broil.] 

reif, rief, 7t. theft. [M.E. and 
A.S. 7'eaf, spoil.] 

reive, see reave. 

rig, 71. ridge, row; properly the 
raised portion between two fur- 
rows, about a rod in breadth. 
[Same as 7'idge ; A.S. hrycg; oi. 
Dan. ryg^ 

riggin, 7t. ridging, roof-timbers, 
rafters. \p'ig^ 

rigwiddie, 71. used as adj.., the 
rope {widdie) which crosses the 



274 



GLOSSARY. 



back {rig) of the horse to support 
the shafts : wh. adj. ropy-looking, 
dried-up, tough. [_rig and widdie.'] 

rin, V. run. 

ripp, n. handful of grain not 
threshed. [M.E. and A.S. 7'ip, 
reaping, a sheaf of corn.] 

riskit, ftc, cracked (a word 
expr. of the noise made by tearing 
roots). [A.S. ^/irJ'sca7i,\.o creak.] 

rive, V. burst, split open ; tear 
to pieces. [M.E. rive?i ; O.N. 
rTfa:\ 

rock, n. distaff. [M.E. rocke ; 
cf. Du. rok; O.N. rokkr.l 

roose, ruse, v. praise, extol. 
[M.E. 7' OS €71 ; O.N. Ju'dsa?^ 

rousin*,//<:. rousing, big. 

rout, 71. way. [Fr. route ?)^ 

X^N\xs.^ptc. roving, 'stravagin.' 

row, rowe, v. roll, wrap. [Cf. 
pow?^ 

rowte, V. low, bellow. [M.E. 
ronteii ; A.S. Jiruta7i ; cf. O.N. 
raiita?\ 

rowth, 71. abundance. [Perh. 
conn. w. rough {rock) as soivth w. 
soiigh?\ 

runkled, ptc. wrinkled. [M.E. 
runklc7t ; M.Du. wro7ikele7t.'] 

runt, 71. stump, stalk with root 
attached, as in kail-riuit. 



Sae, adv. so. 
saft, adj. soft. 

1. sair, V. serve. [Cf. Yx. je 
sers^ 

2. sair, adj. sore, heavy : adv. 
extremely. [M.E. ser, sar ; A.S. 
sdr ; cf. O.N. sdrr.'] 



sang, 7t. song. 

sark, serk, 7t. shirt. [M.E. 
serke ; A.S. sere ; O.N. serkr^ 

sarkit, adj. shirted ; half-sarkit^ 
with poor underclothing. 

saugh (gutt.), 7t. willow, sallow. 
[M.E. salhe ; A.S. sealk.'] 

saul, 71. soul. [M.E. saiile ; 
A.S. sdivl?[ 

saumont, ?/. salmon. [For the 
/, cf. tyra7it^ 

saunt, 71. saint, \sa7ict ; O.Fr. 
sai7ict^ 

saut, 7t. salt. 

sautit, ptc. salted. 

1. saw, V. sow (seed). [A.S. 
sd'wa7iP\ 

2. saw, 71. salve. [M.E. salfe ; 
A.S. sea//.] 

sax, adj. six. [The a is unique.] 
scaith, 71. and v. harm, scathe, 
scaud, V. scald. [O.Fr. eschalder^ 
later eschaiider.'] 

1 . scaur, V. scare : adj. timid. 
[Cf. O.N. skjarr.] 

2. scaur, 71. cliff, scar. [M.E. 
scarre, rock ; cf. O.N. sker, a rocky 
islet.] 

scawl, 71. scold, scolding wife. 

scho, pro7t. she. 

scone (pron. scon), n. cake of 
flour or barley-meal, ' bannock.' 

scower, v. scour, run precipi- 
tately. [O.Fr. esconrre?\ 

scraichin, ptc. screeching. [Cf. 
O.N. skrcEkja ; C . sgreach . ] 

screed, ?z. rent, tear. [M.E. 
screde, A.S. scready shred.] 

scrievin, ptc. rushing. [Cf. 
O.N. skrefy Dan. skrev^ pace.] 

scrimp, v. stint. [Akin to 



GLOSSARY. 



21S 



shrimp and skrmk ; cf. Dan. 
skriimpe, shrivel.] 

scrimply, adv. scarcely. 

scroggie, adj. abounding in 
stunted bushes {sc7'ogs). [C. 
sgrogag^ stunted timber.] 

scunner, sconner, n. disgust, 
loathing : v. to loathe. [M.E. 
scoiiien ; A.S. scuniaii^ shun.] 

see^d, for saw (unusual). 

seizin, ;/. possessions (a law 
term). [O.Fr. saisi7^e^^ 

sel, adj. self. 

sen', V. send ; grant, bless you 
with. 

1. set, V. send (Z>. D. H). 

2. set, V. become, suit. [Same 
as J-//.] 

shachPt, adj. splay, misshapen. 
\shachle, to walk clumsily in loose 
shoes ; schach^ distort ; cf. O.N. 
skakk-r?^ 

shank, 71. leg. [A.S. scanca?\ 

shaul, adj. shallow. [M.E. 
schold^ schald.^ 

shaver, ^. wag, trickster, {shavie?^ 

shavie, n. trick, 'pliskie.' [Cf. 
O.N. skeif-r., Dan. skjcev., crooked ; 
but perh. both words are from 
shave, to drive a close bargain, to 
cheat.] 

shaw, 71. wood, wooded dell. 
\)A.Y.. schawe ; A.S. J-r^^^, copse.] 

shear, v. clip ; reap grain. 

shearer, 7t. reaper. 

sheepshank, 71. leg-bone of a 
sheep ; something thin and weak : 
Nae sheepsha7tk, a person of im- 
portance. 

sheugh (gutt.), 71. furrow, ditch. 
[Also seugh ; prob. M.E. sough., 



trench, conn. w. A.S. sulh, L. sul- 
cus, a furrow.] 

shiel, 71. hut, cottage. [Cf. O.N. 
skjol., shelter.] 

shift, V. exchange, shift places. 

shill, adj. shrill, resounding. 
{U.Y.. schil ; A.S. scyl.'\ 

shog, ;/. a shake causing oscil- 
lation ; shock. [M.E. schogge7i ; 
cf. F. choc ; Du. schoh.~\ 

shool, 71. shovel. [M.E. schoule ; 
A.S. scoJl.'\ 

shoon, 71. shoes» [M.E. scho, 
schoo7i.'\ 

shore, v. offer ; threaten. \adj. 
schor, sheer (of rocks) and so 
threatening.] 

sic, adj. such ; siclike, such-like. 

siccan, adj. such kind of. [Also 
sica7i a ^ sic kiii' <?' ; cf. what7ia.'] 

sicker, rt;^'. steady ; sure. [M.E. 
siker ; K.^. sicor ; 'L. securt^s.] 

sidelins, adv. sideways, ob- 
liquely. [See -//7is.] 

1. siller, 71. money, riches. 
[silver. ] 

2. siller, adj. silvery, made of 
silver. 

silly, adj. simple, weak. [M.E. 
sely ; A.S. s^lig.~\ 

simmer, 7i. summer. [Cf. hi77i- 
771 er.] 

sin, conj. since. [M.E. si7t, for 
si&&e7i.~\ 

skaith, see scathe. 

skeigh (gutt.), adj. shy and skit- 
tish, high-spirited. [M.E. skey ; 
A.S. sceoh ; Dan. sky?\ 

skellum, 7t. wretch, worthless 
fellow. [O.N. skelmiry a rogue ; 

Sw. skdl77l.'\ 



276 



GLOSSARY. 



skelp, n. slap, blow with the 
open hand : v. to slap : wh. (from 
the ringing noise made by the feet) 
to run with alacrity. [C. sgealp, 
a slap.] 

skelpie-limmer, ;/. young hussy. 
[See livivier ; skelpie in this conn, 
prob. = ' gadabout.'] 

skelvy, adj. shelving. {skelf^ 
shelf ; A.wS. scylfe?\ 

skinkin, //(T. thin, liquid. [A.S. 
scencan, to pour ; M.E. sc/iejuhen ; 
O.N. ske7ikja.'\ 

skirl, V. and ;/. scream. [Cf. 
M.E. scJu'illeri ; Norw. ski'ccla^ 
sk?y/(7.~\ 

sklent, V. slant, direct with 
oblique intention : 7i. deviation, 
digression. [M.E. s/entc/i, sc/eu- 
te7i (cf. sclench'c^ slender) ; O.Sw. 
slinta^ to slide.] 

skouth, ;/. scope, liberty to 
range. 

skreigh, v. screech. [M.E. 
sk7'ichcji ; O.N. sk7'ikja (of sup- 
pressed laughter) ; cf. sc7'aich?\ 

slade, past of j"//V/^ = slipped. 

slae, 71. sloe. [A.S. j/J.] 

slap, ;/. opening in a fence or 
thicket or between hills. [Cf. Sc. 
slack ^ 

slee, adj. sly, knowing, ' pawky.' 
[M.E. she, sleh ; O.N. slceg-r?^ 

sleekit, adj. sleek. [M.E. sleke^ 
O.N. slikr^ smooth.] 

slight (gutt.), trick, sleight ; 
skill. \0.'^. sla:g& ; ci. slee.'] 

sloken, v. slake, quench. [M.E. 
slok7ie7i ; O.N. slokva, to quench.] 

sly, adj. see slee (good or bad 
sense). 



slype, V. fall gently over, slip. 
[A.S. ^ sltpa7i?\ 

sma, adj. small. 

smeek, 71. and v. smoke. [Also 
s77iook ; A.S. s77ieoca7i.'\ 

smiddie, ;/. smithy. [For d, 
cf. widdie, stiddie ; M.E. and A.S. 
S7ni&&e ; cf. Dan. S77i2dse.'] 

smoor, V. smother, choke. [M.E. 
sm 07'e7i ; A.S. S7)i oria7i . ] 

smoutie, adj. smutty, dirty. 

smytrie, 71. small number, smat- 
tering. 

snapper, v. stumble. [Freq. of 
STiap.] 

snash, ;/. abusive language, in- 
solence. 

snaw,«.snow; wh.j-;/rtw/>,snowy. 

snaw-broo, 71. melted snow. 

sneck, 71. latch. [Akin to 
S7iatch ; M.E. S7iekke.'] 

sneck-drawin, adj. latch-lifting, 
sneaking. 

sned, V. lop, cut off. [M.E. and 
A.S. S7ic^da7i, to cut.] 

sneesh, sneeshin, 71. snuff. 
[Same as S7ieeze ; M.E. S7iese7t or 
f7iese7t ; A.S. f7teosa7t^ to sneeze ; 
for J-//, cf. creesh.] 

sneeshin-mill, tz. snuffbox. 
[See 771 111.1 

snell, adj. keen, piercing. [M.E. 
and A.S. S7tel.'] 

snool, V. snub, keep under ; 
submit tamely, cringe. [For 
sTiovel (cf. shoot) ; M.E. S7tuvele7t ; 
cf. Dan. s7jdvley to snivel.] 

snoove, v. : s7toove awa, take a 
breath and move on, move on with 
a sniff or snort. [M.E. S7tuvefty 
to pant ; O.Du. S7tuiven.'\ 



GLOSSARY. 



277 



snowk, V. smell out, poke the 
nose into. [M.E. s7ioken ; L.G. 
snoken ; Sw. sndka.'\ 

snuggit, ptc. snugged, made se- 
cure. 

soger, n. soldier. [Cf. M.E. 
sodiour^ 

something, adv. somewhat. 

so'ns, 71. sowens, flummery, a 
kind of porridge made of the juice 
of oat husks. [M.E. seau, A.S. 
seaw, juice.] 

sonsie, adj. plump and good- 
natured, buxom, well-conditioned. 
\so7is., happiness; C. sonas.] 

soom, V. swim. [Same as swim ; 
cf. M.E. soUy sweet, and Sc. soopy 
sweep.] 

sootie, adj. covered wdth soot. 

sough, sugh (gutt.), 7z. the sound 
the wind makes in trees. [Imit. 
word; cf. O.N. szi^r, a rushing 
sound ; M.E. swogen^ A.S. swogan^ 
to moan.] 

soupe, see sowp. 

souple, adj. supple, pliant. [Fr. 
souple.'] 

souter, n. cobbler, shoemaker. 
[M.E. s outer e ; A.S. siltere ; L. 
sutor.'\ 

sowp, n. spoonful, sup, liquid 
food. [M.E. soupeuy A.S. supan^ 
to sup. 

sowth, V. whistle softly. [Perh. 
conn. w. sough.'\ 

sowther, v. solder. [Also sow- 
der ; O.Fr. j"<?2^^^r, to cement ; cf. 
shouther?[ 

spae, V. spell, foretell. [M.E. 
and O.N. spa, prophecy.] 

spairge^ v. scatter liquid, splash ; 



asperse. [Fr. asperger ; L. spar- 
gere.] 

spak, past of speak. 

spate, n. flood. [C. speid.] 

spaviety ptc. spavined, [spavhi.] 

spean, v. wean. [M.E. spanen, 
A.S. spanafi, to entice ; cf. Du. 
spenen, to wean.] 

speel, V. climb, mount. 

spence, n. inner room; prop, 
the place where the provisions are 
kept, the buttery. [O.Fr. des- 
pe7tse ; L. dispells orium.'] 

spier, V. ask. [M.E. spire, A.S. 
spyrian, to track, inquire into.] 

spleuchan, n. tobacco pouch. 
[C. spliucha7t.'] 

splore, 7t. revel, jollification; 
long-winded talk. 

spottin, ptc. discoloring with 
splashes of wet. 

sprachle, v. scramble. [Cf. 
O.N. spraukla.'] 

sprattle, v. sprawl. [Cf. Sw. 
sprattla.l 

spring, n. piece of dance music. 

spritty, adj. full of tangled 
roots of bent, etc. [Also sprotty ; 
A.S. sprot, a sprout; sprytta7z.'\ 

spunk, 71. spark ; fire, mettle. 
[C. sponc, tinder.] 

1. spunkie, adj. spirited, [spunk.'] 

2. Spunkie, 7t. will-o'-the-wisp. 
[Do.] 

squatter, v. 2l word expressive 
of the sound made by a duck 
rising from the water, a combina- 
tion of flutter and splash. [Cf. 
O.N. skvetta, to squirt water.] 

stacher, v. stagger as under a 
load. [M.E. stakeren; O.N. stakra?^ 



278 



GLOSSARY. 



stack, V. past of stick. 

staggie, n. colt. [Dim. of staig., 
a young unbroken horse, a stal- 
lion ; same word as Eng. stag?^ 

stan% n. and v. stand. 

stane, 71. stone. [A.S. stdn.'\ 

stank, ;/. ditch with stagnant 
water, a pool. [M.E. staiic ; O.Fr. 
estanc ; L. stagmim/\ 

stan't, V' p. p. of staji' = stood. 

1. stap, V. stop. 

2. stap, n. step. [A.S. stcr/>e.] 
staukin, />U. stalking. 
staumrel, (ni^J. applied to one 

whose action is of a stupid, stum- 
bling kind ; doltish. [Cf . Eng. stam- 
mer , stumble?^ 

1. staw, V. past of steal ; p. p. 
stown. 

2. staw, V. suiieit. [Cf. Nor- 
thumb. stalls to satiate ; the idea 
is taken from the stall-feeding of 
cattle, i.e., feeding to satiety.] 

stechin, ptc. of stech, pant with 
fatigue or repletion. 

1. steek, ;/. stitch. [A.S. stice?^ 

2. steek, V. shut close. [M.E. 
steketi ; same root as above.] 

steer, v. stir; molest, hurt. 
[A.S. styriajt.'] 

steeve, steive, adj. firm, well- 
knit (coupled with buirdly^ which 
implies strong appearance, while 
swaftk adds a touch of elegance). 
[A.S. sttf, the vowel being short- 
ened in stiff; Dan. stiv.^ 

stell, 71, still. 

sten, V. and n. leap, bound. 
[For steitd ; O.Fr. estetidre, to 
stretch, take long elastic steps.] 

stent, n. tax, levy. [M.E. stent ; 



O.Fr. estente^ a valuation for as- 
sessment ; L. exte7ita?^ 

stey, adj. steep. [Obs. Eng. sty ; 
M.E. stighe7i ; A.S. sttga7i, to rise.] 

stibble, 71. stubble. 

stibble-rig, ;/. leading reaper. 

stile, ;/. gate : prop, a set of 
steps for climbing over a fence. 
[M.E. sti/e ; A.S. stigol ; cf. stey.'] 

stilt, V. lift the feet high ; 
prance. 

stimpart, 71. a measure, one- 
fourth of a peck ; the * sixteenth 
part ' of a bushel. [Erron. der. 
fr. hiiitihne part?\ 

stirk, 71. a one-year old steer. 
\)\.¥.. stirk ; A.S. j-/yr/r.] 

stock, ;/. cabbage plant. [A.S. 
stocc, trunk.] 

stock, ;/. shock of sheaves. [Cf. 
L.G. stiike, bundle.] 

stookit, ptc. set up in shocks. 

stoup, see stowp. 

stour, adj. strong, harsh. [M.E. 
and A.S. stor^ 

stoure, 71. turmoil, struggle ; wh. 
dust in motion. [M.E. stor ; prob. 
O.Fr. esto^lr^^ 

stowlins, adv. stealthily. {stozvTt., 
stolen, and -li7ts?^ 

stowp, 7t. drinking vessel. [O.N. 
sta77ip ; cf. A.S. steap.] 

stoyte, V. stumble. [Du. stuytetty 
to bounce ; M.E. stote7t^ to stutter.] 

strae, 7t. straw. [M.E. stre ; 
A.S. stj-eaw.] 

straik, v. stroke, smooth down. 
[M.E. st7'ake7i ; A.S. strdcian^ 

Strang, adj. strong. [M.E. and 
A.S. stra7tg?\ 

strappin, adj. strapping; tall, 



GLOSSARY. 



279 



handsome, and well-built ; cf. 
strapper. 

straught (gutt.), adj. straight. 
[M.E. straitght, A.S. streht^ pic. 
of strecchen, streccan ; Sc. streetch^ 
or streek^^ 

streekit, ptc. stretched, {streek^ 
see above.] 

striddle, v. freq. of stride. 

stroan, v. urinate. 

strunt, n. spirits. 

studdie (for stiddic)^ n. stithy, 
anvil. [M.E. ^////^; O.'^. ste&i.l 

stuff, ;/. grain crops (these being 

* material' for sustenance). [Cf. 
O.Fr. estoffer^ to furnish with 
necessaries.] 

stumpie, n. dim. of stumps a 
well-worn quill. [M.E. sticmpe ; 
O.N. stti7?ip-r.'\ 

stumpin,//<:. walking stiffly and 
heavily. 

sturt, n. trouble, turmoil, strife. 
[Cf. M.E. sturte, impetuosity.] 

sturtin,//^. troubled, frightened. 
[Same.] 

style, see stile. 

sucker, n. sugar. [Fr. siicre?\ 

sud, V. should. [Past of sail., 
shall ; cf. M.E. siilde^ 

SUgh, see sough. 

sumph, n. a dull soft fellow. 

swaird, n. sward. [A.S. swear d^ 
skin.] 

swall, V. swell. 

swank, adj. w^ell-built and with- 
out spare flesh, supple, ' strappin.' 
[A.S. swaitcor, agile ; cf . O.N. 
svang-r^ slim.] 

swankie, n. 'strappin chiel,' a 

* swank ' young man. 



swap, V. and n. exchange. 
[Perh. M.E. swappeity to strike ; 
cf. ^strike a bargain.'] 

swat, /. of jTe/zV^, sweat. [A.S. 
swat, perspiration ; cf. O.N. sveiti.'] 

swatch, n. sample. [Prop, a 
strip of cloth cut off ; same word 
as Eng. szuat/i.'] 

swats, ;/. ale. [A.S. swat an 
(pi.), ale.] 

swirl, V. and n. curl, whirl. 
[Cf. Norw. svirla^ 

swirlie, adj. full of twists, 
knotty. \swirl.'\ 

swither, n. state of hesitation. 
[A.S. swce&er, whichever of tW'O.] 

swoor, past of swear. [M.E. 
and A.S. swor., swerian?\ 

syne, adv. then, thereafter. 
[M.E. sin, si&&en.'] 

Tae, 71. toe ; tae'd, toed. [M.E., 
A.S., and O.N. td.] 

taen, ptc. of tak, taken. 

tak, V. take. 

Tarn, 7t. Thomas ; dim. Tammze, 

tangle, n. seaweed. [O N.Mng, 
hongull ; Dan. tang^. 

tangs, n. tongs. [M.E. and A.S. 
tange?^ 

tap, n. top, head. 

tapetless, adj. torpid, lifeless, 
numb (esp. w^ith cold). [Sc. tabets, 
bodily sensation.] 

tapsalteerie, adv. topsy-turvy. 

tarrow, v. show lothness. [An- 
other form of tan-y ; M.E. tar gen ; 
O.Fr. targier.] 

tassie, n. goblet. [Fr. tasse.] 

tauld, past of te//. [Cf. M.E. 
ta/de.] 



280 



GLOSSARY. 



tawie, adj. tractable, tame. 
{taw^ to handle much ; M.E. 
taweii ; A.S. tdwiany to treat, 
prepare.] 

tawtet, pU. matted, shaggy. 
[Cf. O.N. tceta, to tease wool ; 
tdt, a flock of wool.] 

teat, also taet, n. small quan- 
tity. [Perh. O.N. tceta, shreds.] 

teen, «. vexation. [Obs. Eng. 
teen ; M.E. teone^ tene ; K.^. teo na , 
injury.] 

1. tent, n. box-pulpit, used 
in open-air preachings, with a 
covering stretched overhead. [L. 
teitd^re?^ 

2. tent, n, care, heed : v. take 
care of; heed. [M.E. tenty atente ; 
Fr. attendre.'] Wh. tenlie, careful ; 
tentless^ heedless. 

tester, 7t. small coin ; sixpence. 
[For testei'u fr. O.Fr. teste ^ head 
(from the stamp).] 

teughly, adv. toughly. [M.E. 
and A.S. toh^ tough.] 

thack, 71. thatch. [M.E. thak; 
A.S. t><^c^ a roof.] 

thack an* rape, see T. D., 78, 
note, and B. A., 2, note. 

thae, /r^;^. those. [A.S./^.] 

thairm, ?/. gut ; intestines of 
animals used for ' puddins,' also 
for fiddlestrings. [M.E. tharm ; 
A.S. Jiea7'7?i.'] 

thairm-inspirin, adj. inspiring 
the fiddlestrings. 

that, adv. so ; Tiae that fozi, not 
so very full. 

thegither, adv. together. 

the-morn, adv. to-morrow. 

thick, adj. intimate ; cf . pack. 



thieveless, adj. without * virtue,* 
ill-natured, cold, inactive, bootless. 
[Also thowless ; M.E. and A.S. 
Jteazvy virtue.] 

thir, pro7t. these. [O.N. J>eir.'] 

thirl, V. thrill. [M.E. thurlen ; 
A.S. J)yrlia7ty to pierce ; cf. dirl 
and drill.'] 

thole, V. suffer, endure. [M.E. 
thole7i ; A.^. J>olia7i ; O.N. /^/«.] 

thowe, n. thaw. [M.E. thowe ; 
A.^. Jidwia7t.'\ 

thrang, n. throng, press: adj. 
busy, in great numbers. [M.E. 
and A.S. Jiran^j a crowd.] 

thrave, 71. two 'stooks' of cut 
grain, twenty-four sheaves. [M.E. 
threve ; O.N.i»r^yf.] 

thraw, ;/. and v. twist. [M.E. 
thrawe7i ; A.S. h7'dwa7t.'\ 

thretteen, adj. thirteen. [M.E. 
th 7'eotte7te ; A . S . /» reotie7ie?^ 

thrissle, 7t. thistle. 

through, V. carry through, ac- 
complish ; 77iak to through^ manage 
to finish. 

throu' ther = through ither, 
through each other, indiscrimi- 
nately, in confusion. 

thrum, V. hum, 'birr'; strum. 
[O.N. hry7}ir, noise.] 

thud, V. make a heavy booming 
sound. 

tiend, 71. tithe. [Dan. tiende ; 
O.N. thnid?^ 

tight (gutt.), adj. well-knit and 
shapely, 'strappin.' 

till, prep. to. [O.N. ///.] 

timmer, n. wood ; timber. 

tine, V. lose. [M.E. tinen; O.N. 
iyTta^ 



GLOSSARY. 



281 



tinkler, n. tinker, vagabond 
worker in tin ; \vh. vagabond. 
\_ti)ik, tinkle^ 

tint, see titie. 

tip, see toop. [The i is local.] 

tippence, ;/. twopence. 

tippenny, ii. twopenny ale. 

tirl, V. strip the roof off. [Freq. 
of tirr^ to strip, pluck off.] 

tither, adj. other : only with def. 
art. the tither. [Cf. the tane (the 
one) ; A.S. />^/ dji^ haet d&er.~\ 

tittie, //. sister. [A corruption ; 
cf. sissy.~\ 

tittlin, ptc. chattering. [Cf. 
tittle-tattle :\ 

tocher, n. marriage portion. [C. 
toch^'adh.^ 

tod, 71. fox. [Prob. from tod., 
bush, on account of his tail; O.N. 
toddi^ a tod of wool.] 

toddy, n. whiskey punch. 

todle, V. walk unsteadily, as a 
child. 

toom, adj. empty. [M.E. and 
A.S. torn., free from ; O.N. td7?ir.'] 

toon, see toii7t. 

toop, tip, 7t. tup, ram. 

toss, 71. toast ; belle (from the 
custom of toasting the reigning 
beauty). 

toun, n. farm-stead. [A.S. and 
O.N. til7t^ an enclosure, farmhouse 
and buildings.] 

tousie, towsie, adj. shaggy, tum- 
bled (of hair). [M.E. tose7i ; A.S. 
t^sen., to tease.] 

tout (pron. toot with prolonged 
vowel), V. blow^ a blast of a 
trumpet. [Imit. word.] 

tow {pw as in cow)., 7i. rope, bell 



pull. [M.E. to7fje7t ; A.S. togia7t ; 
O.N. toga., to pull ; tatig^ a rope.] 

towmond, 7i. twelvemonth. 
[O.N. tolf; Dan. tolv, twelve (w. 
/ and V softened), and 7?io7ith.'\ 

town, see tou7i. 

towsie, see tousie. 

toyte, V. totter, ' todle.' 

transmugrified, ptc. metamor- 
phosed. 

trashtrie, 7i. trash \=trashe7y. 
For the ^ cf . 'iijastrie\ 

trig, adj. neat, spruce. [Akin 
to Eng. trick, adorn.] 

trouth, trowth, adv. troth, in 
truth. 

tryste, 7i. agreement, appoint- 
ment ; wh. a hiring-market, fair. 
[M.E. tryst, trust ; O.N. treysta, 
to rely on.] 

trysted, ptc. agreed upon. 

twa, adj. two. 

twal, adj. twelve. 

twin, V. divide in twain, sepa- 
rate ; wh. deprive. \}\.Y..twi7i7ie7i ; 
cf. A. S. getwi7t?ie.'] 

tyke, 7t. dog, cur. [M.E. tike ; 
O.N. tik.] 

Unco, adj. uncouth ; strange, 
unusual : adv. very, uncommonly. 
[M.E. and A.S. tc7tcz7&, unknown.] 

uncos, 71. odds and ends of news. 

unfauld, v. unfold. 

unsicker, adj. unsteady, untrust- 
worthy, [^sicker.'] 

usquebae, ;/. whiskey. [C. uisge 
beatha, aqua vitae.] 

Vauntie, adj. proud, boastful. 
[Fr. va7iter^ to boast.] 



282 



GLOSSARY. 



vera, adv. very. [Cf. obs. Eng. 
veray ; O.Fr. verai.'\ 

virl, n. ring, ferrule. [M.E. and 
O.Fr. virole.'] 

vogie {g hard), adj. vain, proud. 

Wa% 71. wall. 

wabster, ;/. weaver. [M.E. 
Webster e ; A.S. webbesire, a female 
weaver.] 

1. wad, V. would. [Cf. M.E. 
walde.^ 

2. wad, V. wed ; wager, pledge. 
[M.E. and A.S. wedd, a pledge; 
cf. Sw. vad.'] 

wae, ;/. woe : adj. woful, vexed. 
[A.S. wd, 1VLC ; O.N. vei?^ 

waesucks, i7iterj. alas. 

wae worth, see worth. 

waft, ;/. weft, woof. [M.E. and 
A.S. weft^^ 

wair,z/. spend. [O.N.z'(fr;'^,tolay 
out money ; A.S. werian, wear.] 

wale, n. choice : v. choose, 
select. [M.E. walen ; O.N. velja.'] 

walie, adj. goodly ; powerful. 
[Prob. from wale.'] 

wallop, v. swing loosely: n. 
loose and unsteady movement. 
[M.E. walop ; Fr. galop ; O. Flem. 
walop, gallop.] 

wame, 7i. belly, stomach. [M.E. 
warn be ; A.S. wajub.] 

wan, V. past of wijt. 

wanchancie, adj. unlucky. 
[M.E. wa7i-y un- ; A.S. wan; 
O.N. van-r^ lacking, and cha7ice^ 

wanrestfu% adj. unrestful, rest- 
less. [See above.] 

ware, v. worn. [Form not legiti- 
mate.] 



wark, ;/. work. 

warP, warld, 7t. world. 

warlock, ;/. wizard. [M.E. war- 
loghe, a deceiver (esp. the devil); 
A.S. wcEr, troth; loga^ liar.] 

warly, warldly, adj. worldly. 

warsle, v. wrestle, struggle, 
twist. [M.E. za;'astle7t.] 

warst, adj. worst. 

wastrie, 7z. waste, [wastery ; 
cf. tras/itrie.'] 

1. wat, adj. wet. 

2. wat, 2/. trow, know. [M.E. 
luiten ; A.S. wita7i ; pres. ind. 
wdt^ 

wattle, 71. wand, flexible rod. 
[A.S. watol, a hurdle.] 

wauble, v. wabble, reel, move 
unsteadily. 

waught (gutt.), 71. draught of 
liquor. [For quatight., fr. C. cuaeh, 
a beaker, bowl ; Eng. quaff \s cog- 
nate.] 

1. wauk, wauken, v. wake, 
awaken. 

2. wauk, wauket, ptc. thick- 
ened and hardened (through 
shrinking). [M.E. walkien^ to 
full, fr. A.S. wealca7i^ to roll, toss; 
cf. the name Walker^ and Dan. 
valke^ to full cloth.] 

waukrife, adj. sleepless, wake- 
ful. \wauk I. and rife, plentiful.] 

waur, adj. worse : v. worst, get 
the better of. \yi^.werre,worre ; 
O.N. verri ; Dan. veer re.] 

wean, n. child; dim. weanie. 
[M.E. wcT^eTt ; A.S. we7iia7t, to 
wean ; cf . Eng. wea7zli7tg.'] 

weason, n. weasand, throat. 
[M.E. and A.S. wdse7id.'] 



GLOSSARY. 



283 



1. wecht, n, weight. [M.E. 
wegh en ; A . S . wega n . ] 

2. wecht, 11. an instrument for 
winnowing grain, like a sieve with- 
out the holes, the bottom being of 
stretched sheepskin. [M.E. weg- 
gcn ; A.S. ivecgan^ to shake.] 

wee, adj. little ; zvee bit, used as 
adj. slight ; wee thing, adv. slightly. 
[Obs. Eng. we, as in a little we, a 
little bit, a short way; prob. fr. 
M.E. wei ; A.S. weg?^ 

weed, n. array. [M.E. and A.S. 
wisde, garment.] 

weeder-clips, ;/. shears for cut- 
ting weeds. 

weel, ft. prosperity : adv. well ; 
wee I I wat, I 'm sure ; w eel-won, 
honorably earned, hard-worked- 
for. 

weepers, n. mourning bands. 

weet, n. and v. wet. 

well, //. eddy. [M.E. and A.S. 
wcel^ 

we'se, V. we shall. 

westlin, adj. westerly. 

wha, wham, whase, pro7i. who, 
whom, whose. 

whaizle, v. wheeze. [A.S. 
hwesan^ 

whalpit, ptc. whelped. 

whang, n. large thick slice. 
[Prob. conn. w. whack; cf. Sc. 
use of diint, a blow, or a large 
piece.] 

whare, whaur, adv. where. 
[M.E. and A.S. hw^r, hwdr.'] 

whatna, adj. what kind of. 

wheep, 7t. s>Qe pen7iy-2vheep. 

I. whid, z^. whisk, move rapidly : 
n. rapid movement. 



2. whid,;/. fib, falsehood. 

whigmaleerie, n. whimsies, 
crotchets. [The name of a ridicu- 
lous drinking-game.] 

whiles, adv. sometimes. [Adv. 
gen. of while and the more primi- 
tive form of whilst.'] 

whin, whinstane, ;/. greenstone, 
trap. [Said to be for whern-sto7te, 
millstone, fr. qnei-n, a mill.] 

whins, 71. gorse. [C. chwyn^ 
weeds.] 

whintle, see wi7ttle. 

whip, V. snatch. 

whirligigum, 7t. fantastic orna- 
ment. 

whirrin, ptc. word expressive of 
the flight of a partridge. [Imit. 
word ; cf. Dan. hvirreP] 

whisht, 71. silence : prop, an 
i7ite7J. 

whitter, n. dram, drink. 

whittle, 71. knife. [M.E. thwitel ; 
A.S. hwTtaii, to pare; wh. Sc. 
white, to cut.] 

whunstane, see whi7t. 

V7\\ p7'ep. with. 

widdie, woodie, ;/. rope (prop, 
of withes), halter. [M.E. wi&i, a 
willow; A.S. zui&ig.'] 

wile, wyle, ;/. instinct, penetra- 
tion ; ruse, artifice : v. lure, entice. 
[M.E. wile ; A.S. wTl.l 

willyart, adj. wild, shy. [Same 
as will, astray, with term, -art.'] 

wily, adj. astute, shrewd. 
[wile.] 

wimple, V. meander ; ripple. 
[Prob. freq. of wimp, doublet of 
wi7id, twist.] 

I. win, V. winnow. \wiftd^ 



284 



GLOSSARY- 



2. win, V. get; reach. [M.E. 
winiien ; A.wS. uuinnan^ to toil, 
suffer.] 

winna, v. will not. 

winnock, 71. window. [M.E. 
ivitidowe ; O.N. vindauga^ lit. wind- 
eye.] 

win^t, past of w/;/^/= wound; 
cf. stall' t. 

wintle, V. stagger, reel. [Freq. 
of wind ; A.S. wijidan, twist.] 

winze, ;/. oath, curse. [Cf. Du. 
've7'we7tsc/ieu, to curse.] 

wiss, V. wish. [Cf. btiss, 
bush.] 

wistna, v. wist not, knew not. 
[Past of zvat.'] 

wizened, ptc dried up, wrinkled. 
[M.E. zuisenen ; A.S. uuisJiian ; 
O.N. visna^ 

wonner, n. wonder ; sca^-ecrow. 
[Cf. hiiniicr.'\ 

WOOdie, ;/. see widdie. 

wooer-bab, ;/. lovers' knot. 
[See bah?^ 

1. wordie, ;/. dim. of ivord. 

2. wordie, adj. worthy, 
worset, n. and adj. worsted. 

[A corruption.] 

worth, v. be, happen ; wae 
worthy woe be to. [^I.E. wiirthen ; 
A.S. iveor&aii^^ 

WOW, iiiterj. oh ! 

wrack, v. vex, torment. 

wrang, ;/. and adj. wrong : v. 
injure. [M.E. and A.S. wt-ang^ fr. 
wringa7i^ to twist.] 

writer, n. solicitor, lawyer. 
[W.S., Writer to the Signet, a title 
in Scots Law.] 



wud, adj. mad, crazy. [Obs. 
Eng. zvood ; M.E. and A.S. 'wdd.'\ 

wyle, see wile. 

wyte, n. and v. blame. [M.E. 
and A.S. wTte, punishment.] 

Yard, yaird, n, garden. [M.E. 
yard ; A.S. geard, enclosure.] 

yealins, «. things or persons of 
the same age. [Also yeildins, 
eildins, fr. eild?^ 

yell, adj. giving no milk. [Also 
yeld; ^l.Y.. gelde ; O.^.geld-r?^ 

yerk, v. jerk, tug. 

yestreen, adv. yester-even, last 
night. 

yett, ?2. gate. SJA.Y.. yate ; A.S. 
geatr^ 

yeuk, V. itch. \V)\x.jenke7t ; cf. 
A.S. gicca n ; M.E. yike7i , yicch e7i ; 
Eng. itch.'\ 

yill, n. ale. \^y is local; cf. 
yin = a7ie.~\ 

yill-caup, n. ale mug. 

yird, ;/. earth. 

yirr, ^^ gnar, snarl. [M.E. 
yeorreii ; A.vS. georrajt, girran.] 

yokin, ;/. yoking, half a day's 
work ; wh. in general, a ' bout.' 
(See £j>. Mrs. Scott, 4, note.) 

yont, prep, beyond. [Also 
ayont ; cf. ahint.'] 

younker, n. youngster, young 
person. [Cf. Du. jojzker ; Dan. 
jti7tker.^ 

yowe, 71. ewe. [Dim. yowie ; 
A.S. eow^ 

yule, 71. Christmas. [M.E.j^<?/; 
A.^.geol ; O.N.y^/, festival of the 
midwinter solstice.] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



A guid New-Year I wish thee, 

Maggie, 67. 
A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, 

106. 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 

154. 
Again rejoicing Nature sees, 94. 
As Mailie an' her lambs thegither, 

4. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar 

flows, 8. 
Braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, 

162. 
But lately seen in gladsome green, 

166. 
By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 129. 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' 
mair, 167. 

Dear Smith, the slee-est pawkie 

thief, 79. 
Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

160. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and 

strong, T30. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among 

thy green braes, 153. 



Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 169. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 135. 

Guid-mornin to your Majesty, loi. 



Hark ! the mavis' evening sang, 

165. 

Here awa, there awa, wandering 

Willie, 162. 
How pleasant the banks of the 

clear winding Devon, 129. 



I gat your letter, winsome Willie, 

32. 
I mind it weel in early date, 122. 
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' 

friend, 98. 
In this strange land, this uncouth 

clime, 132. 
Is there a whim-inspired fool, 108. 
Is there, for honest poverty, 168. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 135. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in 

prose, 6. 
Last May a braw wooer cam down 

the lang glen, 170. 
Let other poets raise a fracas, 63. 



286 



INDEX OF FIRST FINES. 



My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie, 

136. 
My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel, 

171. 
My lord, I know your noble ear, 

126. 
My lov'd, my honour'd, much 

respected friend, 49. 

Now in her green mantle blythe 

Nature arrays, 167. 
Now simmer blinks on flowery 

braes, 125. 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell an' 

bloody, 141. 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel, 

156. 

O Mary, at thy window be, 2. 

O saw ye bonie Lesley, 157. 

O thou unknown xA-lmighty Cause, 

J- 
O thou ! whatever title suit thee, 16. 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, i. 
O, wert thou in the cauld 1:)last, 
V J- 

O whistle, an' I '11 come to you, 

my lad, 163. 
O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 

O ye wha are sae guid yours el, 92. 
Of a' the airts the wind can 
blaw, 133. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
164. 

Should auld acquaintance be for- 
got, 134. 

Some books are lies frae end to 
end, 21. 



The bairns gat out wi' an unco 

shout, 155. 
The Catrine woods were yellow 

seen, 46. 
The deil cam fiddling through the 

town, 1 56. 
The lovely lass o' Inverness, 164. 
The sun had clos'd the winter 

day, 85. 
There was a lad was born in 

Kyle, 15. 
There's nought but care on ev'ry 

han', 9. 
They snool me sair an' haud me 

down, 153. 
This wot ye all whom it concerns, 

116. 
Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning 

ray, 138. 
'Twas in that place o' Scotland's 

isle, 71. 
'Twas when the stacks get on 

their winter-hap, 109. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 35. 
Upon that night, when fairies 
light, 55. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped 

flow'r, 96. 
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous 

beastie, 47. 
What will I do gin my Hoggie 

die, 131. 
When biting Boreas, fell and 

doure, 117. 
When chapman billies leave the 

street, 145. 
When o'er the hill the eastern 

star, 158. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



287 



While at the stook the shearers Wow, but your letter made me 

cow'r, 43. vauntie, 139. 

While briers and woodbines bud- 
ding green, 27. Ve banks, and braes, and streams 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond around, 159. 

blaw, 10. Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 

Will ye go to the Indies, my j 152. 

Mary, 98. | 



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